Full of Ghosts Tonight
by Lizwontcry
Summary: AU, sequel to The One That Got Away. After a devastating loss, Sara goes back to California to find out something, anything that could help her understand the father she never really knew.
1. Prologue

**A/N - So this is the sequel to The One That Got Away. Basically, the premise is that even though the way Sara and Grissom got together might have been different than on the show, her past still catches up with her and she has to leave to deal with it. So this is set 2 years after The One that Got Away ended, and they're married now. Although, this is going to be rather angsty and not as focused on the GSR as all my other stories have been. It's still there, just not the main theme. Okay, I'll shut up now. Feedback is always welcomed and encouraged, and thanks as always to GSFanatic for being the most helpful beta that ever beta'd.**

_What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,  
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain  
Under my head till morning; but the rain  
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh  
Upon the glass and listen for reply,  
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain  
For unremembered lads that not again  
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.  
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,  
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,  
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:  
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,  
I only know that summer sang in me  
A little while, that in me sings no more._

Edna St. Vincent Millay

* * *

  
_November, 2009_

He's probably reading the letter right now.

Ah, the letter. I know it's a cop out. I know I owe him an explanation. I know to everyone, it must seem that I'm out of control and maybe a little crazy. I know a lot of things, but the one thing I know more than anything is that I have to get out of here.

I came here for him. And now I'm leaving for him, too. How does that make sense at all? Well, it makes sense in my head, and that's the only thing that counts at this point. I think I deserve to be a little selfish. I mean, don't I? After everything I've been through?

The taxi driver asks where I'm going. I think about it, maybe too long, because he says, "Ma'am?"

So I tell him. "McCarren Airport," I say. When I get there, I will buy a ticket for San Francisco, and then I'll drive. I'll drive to a place that I've been avoiding for all of my adult life; the place that still haunts me every time I close my eyes.

"Where are you off to?" The driver asks, perhaps sensing that I'm at rock bottom and I need to talk to someone about it.

"Tomales Bay, California," I tell him. "It's where I grew up." _It's where my mother killed my father in front of me and my brother._ I do not add this important detail.

I close my eyes and think about the letter I've just written.

_Gil, you know I love you. I feel I've loved you forever. Lately, I haven't been feeling very well. Truth be told, I'm tired. In the hospital, while I mourned the loss of what could have been our son, I realized something - and I haven't been able to shake it. Since my father died I've spent almost my entire life with ghosts. We've been like close friends, and that night in the hospital after everyone had left and it was just me and all the drugs coursing through my body, it occurred to me it was time for me to bury them._

_I can't do that here. I'm so sorry._

_No matter how hard I try to fight if off, I'm left with the feeling that I have to go. I'm going home. Not the home we share, but the home that I've been running away from since I was 11 years old. I have to do this. If I don't, I'm afraid I'll self-destruct - and worse, you'll be there to see it happen. You've already seen enough._

_Be safe, know that I tried very hard to stay. Know that you are my one and only. I'll miss you with every beat of my heart._

_Our life together is the only home I've ever really had. I won't trade it for anything, and I will be back. I have to take care of some things first, but know that when I'm done, I **will** come home. The home we share. Please wait for me._

_I love you. I always will._

_Goodbye for now._

* * *

  
It's not like I didn't have an opportunity to tell him that I was leaving, it was more like it was a sudden decision to leave and if I talked to him about it, I wouldn't leave. And I have to leave, because even though I've only been in Vegas for a few years, I've discovered something. The only thing that's been keeping me sane is him. I'm only happy when I'm with him, and that's not good for me anymore. Even when I was with Robert, thinking about Gil is what never failed to make me smile. When I was having a rough day, I'd close my eyes and think about what it would be like to be in his arms. And now, when I am in his arms, I can't help but wonder if there was anything better than that feeling; that feeling of comfort and safety that I can only find when I'm with him. It's discouraging, because I don't want to be that person. I want to be able to make myself happy and then have the added benefit of him by my side. That's why I have to go. 

The cab driver drops me off at the airport. I don't have anything with me, just my purse with my wallet, my iPod, a crumpled piece of paper that contained the first draft of the letter, my cell phone, a tube of lipstick, and a phone number written on the back of a business card. Oh, and some cigarettes and a lighter.

As a matter of fact, as soon as I get out of the cab, I light up a cigarette, and inhale deeply. My lungs haven't experienced this toxin in quite a long time, not since college, and they protest in the form of a very unlady-like coughing fit. It hurts, but in a good way. Ah, how I missed smoking. When I was pregnant, I had such terrible cravings for tobacco. Even in my dreams, I'd be smoking a cigarette. I didn't, though. I didn't want to take any chances. A lot of good that did me.

An hour later, I'm booked for a flight to San Francisco that's leaving in 2 hours. I look around me at the people playing slot machines and wonder how desperate they are to get one last jackpot before their plane takes them back to reality. I know how they feel--I'm waiting for my plane back to reality.

I pick up my cell phone and take out the business card with the phone number. I hesitantly dial the number. I hear it ring, just one ring. And then I hang up and put the phone and the number back in my purse. I'm not ready to call my mother yet. Maybe when I get to California. Maybe after that. Maybe never. My mother, I will deal with eventually. Because I'm not going home to see her. I'm going home to get to know my dad. Somebody has to know something about him. Somebody in California has to know more about my dad than I do. I want to know what he was like before he let the bottle get the best of him. Somebody has to know, because I have to know. I have to confront my ghosts, because if I don't...I'll never get back to Grissom.

Grissom is my starting point and my end point. He's my shelter from the shitstorm of my life. He doesn't always know the right thing to say or do, and sometimes, just sometimes, I wonder why it is I jeopardized my good, solid but godawful boring marriage to be with this odd workaholic entomologist who was always keeping me on my toes. But then I'll wake up from a restful sleep and find him next to me, snoring away as usual, I think about how lucky I am that I get to be with my soul mate. But none of that mattered the day I lost our baby. And nothing has mattered since then.

* * *

  
When I started showing a few months into the pregnancy, I know what people were thinking. I'm 37, Gil's 53 and already has a daughter. It must have been unplanned. We had a little surprise coming into the world, and we must be frustrated by that development. 

The truth is, I wanted a baby. Robert and I tried for years, but we couldn't make anything happen. I know this disappointed him more than it did me. But I wanted a baby with Grissom, something that was part of both of us, and he wanted the same. It came as a surprise to me that he wanted to have another child, especially since at the time, Charlotte was nearly 26 years old.

"Sara, believe me, I know there's an age difference," he said when I carefully brought up the subject. "I know Charlotte will be old enough to be the baby's mother and some people will find that hard to swallow. But raising her was an essential part of my life, and if I had to do it all over again so you can have that experience, so we can have that experience together...it'll be worth it."

I mean, how can you not love a man like that?

It didn't take long, much to our shock and surprise. Before we'd even been married a year, I was pregnant. We sat on the bed, our new dog Hank lying at our feet, while I waited for the results of the pregnancy test. I wasn't sure how I'd feel either way, but when we found a positive result, we grinned at each other like kids on Christmas morning.

We had a little dinner party a few days later with Avery, her date, Charlotte, Warrick, Catherine, Nick and Greg and their dates. We ate spaghetti and drank wine while Charlotte entertained us with tales of her new life in the courtroom. Gil and I were going to tell everyone about the baby after dessert, but Catherine cornered me when I was in the kitchen getting it ready.

"You're pregnant," Catherine said, staring at me. I stopped scooping vanilla ice cream and stared back at her.

"How the hell do you know?" I whispered. "Did he tell you? He promised he would wait!"

"I know you are, Sara. I've been there before, and I'm there now. So don't try to hide it, a woman knows these things!"

"Well, yeah. We were going to tell everyone--wait, what? You aren't--"

Catherine nodded. We both let out a girlish squeal that sent both Gil and Warrick running towards the kitchen with wild abandon.

"What's wrong? What's happening?!" They both wanted to know.

Catherine slithered up to Warrick and whispered in his ear. He laughed, and couldn't stop laughing.

"Want to let me in on the joke?" Gil asked me.

"We're both pregnant," I tell him. "Think Ecklie will appreciate the news?"

By then, a crowd had gathered, so we told them our news. Everyone laughed and hugged and kissed, and I was excited to have someone who'd been there before going through it with me. And only the tiniest bit bitter that she stole my thunder.

Later, after everyone but Avery and her date left, she helped me wash dishes while Gil and her date, Mark, watched ESPN with an alarming amount of interest.

"I just want to tell you how happy I am for you two," she said, looking genuinely pleased and just a little nostalgic. "He's such a doting, caring father, and you're just going to fall in love with him all over again."

I smiled, and felt a tiny bit sad for the mother of his first child. "Thank you, Avery. That means so much to me."

She looked at me closely. "Is there...anything you want to talk about?"

How did she know? Avery was always doing that, guessing that I wanted to talk about something before I even knew myself. But since she's a doctor, I knew I could tell her what was bothering me.

"I'm just worried, you know? I'm almost 38, Avery. I know the statistics aren't as good for a healthy baby at this point. I worry that I waited too long, I was too focused on my career and I should have--"

Avery put her hand on my arm. I set down the bowl I was washing and looked at her, a few tears in my eyes. Damn hormones.

"First of all, you've told me before that you didn't know if Robert would be a good father, so you were right to wait. You've seen Gil with Charlotte, he's amazing and she totally adores him. Now, as far as you being older, yes, you are. And maybe 15, 20 years ago that would have been a problem. But more and more women are waiting, and with that, medical technology has gotten so much better in that area. We know how to deal with complications better now. Everything will be fine, Sara, believe me."

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe Gil when he'd put his hand on my stomach and make up stories about what our baby will grow up to be. From his tales, I imagined our baby was going to grow up and be a baseball playing scientist who discovered the cure for cancer. Still, something nagged at me when I started to let myself be truly happy. Something in the back of my mind wouldn't let me stop worrying about what could happen. And in my seventh month, I went to a crime scene that changed everything, and as soon as I had everything, I lost everything.


	2. The plant that never blooms

**A/N - Well, there's nothing particularly happy about this chapter. I swear, future chapters probably won't be this depressing.**

_I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,  
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.  
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
in secret, between the shadow and the soul._

_I love you as the plant that never blooms  
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;  
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,  
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body._

_I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.  
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;  
so I love you because I know no other way_

_than this: where I does not exist, nor you,  
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,  
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep._

_- Pablo Neruda, Sonnet VVII -_

* * *

On the plane, I sit in an aisle seat and look straight ahead. I don't want to gaze outside the window at the surrounding sky. I don't want to know what I'm missing. I close my eyes and ignore the flight attendant's safety instructions. All I want to do is turn on my iPod and zone out. But, as always, zoning out never happens.

All I can do is think about Gil, and what I've left behind. I know I'm making the right decision to leave, but it's what's right for me, not _us._ I feel guilty. We're married, we work together, and we have a dog together. Hank is a drooler, but we love him just the same. I'm leaving a life that I've always wanted, but what can I do? I'm sick. There's something wrong with me, and I can't let Grissom see me like this anymore. He doesn't need to know this side of me. Nobody does.

* * *

I first viewed my pregnancy as the most interesting scientific experiment I'd ever done. Whenever I'd have a symptom, I'd look in my book to see if it was normal. I researched, I read everything I could get my hands on, I watched documentaries. I wanted to know everything that was happening to me, and the reason why it was happening.

I was really dreading morning sickness, but I didn't have much of it, fortunately. It happened maybe once a week, and when it did, I was almost happy. _I'm a normal pregnant woman!_ I would think after the fact. But vomiting wasn't my problem. No, it was the frequent urination that I had a hard time with in that first month. At crime scenes, I'd make sure the bathroom was cleared first so I'd have it available when I inevitably needed to go.

That was embarrassing, but not nearly as embarrassing as the second month. I had gas. A lot of gas, a never ending amount of gas. At first I was horrified, but I got used to it. Gil got a kick out of it and would laugh like crazy. I'd just glare at him, but he'd still laugh every single time it happened. He was like a goofy teenager sometimes, that husband of mine.

I think he found my third month a little more tolerable because, um, well, I was horny. My sex drive was just a little bit out of control. But that changed in my fourth month, after I gained about 15 pounds and had the most vicious mood swings I'd ever experienced. I want to say the weight gain didn't bother me, but it did. I've been the same weight for most of my adult life. I work out, I try to eat right, and if I feel like I'm gaining anything, I try hard to fix it. It was weird to be so curvy in places I've never been curvy before; to have extra padding in places I always tried hard to keep a decent size. It was frustrating, but Gil seemed to like it. Actually, he couldn't keep his hands off me. At the lab, everyone would just roll their eyes when they saw us coming, because he'd be holding my hand or putting his arm around me all the time. Pregnancy brought out Sentimental Gil, which was nice most of the time, but sometimes I just wanted to bite his hand so he'd keep it to himself.

These symptoms were fascinating to me, and yet that's all they were - symptoms. I didn't really connect the feelings I was having with what was going on with my baby. But the first time I felt the baby move, I was struck senseless. I couldn't believe that sensation in my stomach, the sensation of a human being inside of me, moving around, growing, changing, changing _me._ It happened when I was processing a car, which for some reason I always got stuck with. When I felt the baby move, I rubbed my stomach and said, "Oh...my...God." Catherine, who was inspecting one of the tires at the moment, jumped up and said, "What is it? Did you find something?" She saw me rubbing my stomach and suddenly looked worried. "Are you okay? Talk to me, Sara."

Catherine was just as pregnant as I was. Everyone in the lab got a kick out of the two of us, and they named us "The Hormone Twins." It was true; nobody was really sure what kind of mood they'd find us in at any given time.

"It moved," I said, bewildered. "The baby moved!"

Catherine smiled widely. "It's wonderful, isn't it? There's someone in there, making sure you don't forget about them. Lindsey was brutal sometimes, but this one is being really mellow."

"It's so weird," I told her. "Until now, I just saw the baby in terms of stages, you know? Like first trimester, first month, second month...but there's a human in here, Catherine. I just..."

She nodded knowingly. "I know. As a scientist, it's an interesting feeling. You'll get used to it."

I didn't know if I would. I was fascinated by this new feeling.

The next time it happened, I had been asleep. I woke up with a start and sat up, clutching my stomach. Grissom woke up as soon as he felt me get up, and looked at me, terrified.

"What's wrong? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

I put his hand on my stomach. He grinned when he felt the movement, grinned like a little school boy.

"That's our baby," he whispered.

"I know," I whispered back. "Isn't it great?"

We didn't go back to sleep. Instead, we talked about what it would be like to raise a child together. We'd talked about it before, of course, but now it felt like it was real. I couldn't wait to experience this with my husband, the love of my life, my soul mate. We were going to have someone who was part of both of us. I couldn't wait.

My sixth and seventh month sucked. That's really the only way to describe it. It was summer in Las Vegas, and I had just about every disgusting symptom imaginable. It felt like the baby was doing the Jane Fonda workout, and I just wanted him to stop already and go back to sleep. When the doctor told us it would be a boy, Gil was so very, very happy. Happier than I'd ever seen him. I just knew he was going to buy him a baseball mitt as soon as the little guy was able to hold it. He had big dreams for our son, both of us did. Maybe the baby would have my stubbornness or Gil's dimples. Maybe he'd have my brown eyes or Gil's fascination with bugs. I just hoped he would have his father's baby blue eyes.

Charlotte came in from New York during my sixth month. We went shopping together, and she couldn't stop talking about how excited she was to have a baby brother on the way.

"You don't think it's weird to have a brother who's 26 years younger than you?" I asked her at the maternity clothes store. "I mean, you aren't embarrassed or anything?"

She laughed. "Of course not! I'm so excited. It'll be good practice for when I finally decide to have a baby. Not any time soon, of course, but when it does eventually happen."

I nodded. Charlotte had been dating a lovely attorney, Dave, for almost a year, but it didn't seem like she was very serious about him. I could tell she liked him more than she let on, though. She was stubborn about it, just like I could be.

"So you'll come baby-sit for us then?" I asked, semi-jokingly.

"Absolutely," she said. "I can't wait to teach him practical jokes when he's old enough." We laughed. I told her about my brother teaching me the old Saran Wrap on the toilet trick when we were younger. She promised she wouldn't teach him that, but I wasn't so sure about that. I made a mental note to lock up the Saran Wrap when Charlotte came to baby-sit.

* * *

  
Everyone says that once you get past the first trimester, a miscarriage is much less likely to occur. So in my seventh month, I thought I was home free. We were going to have this baby and he'd be healthy, and I wasn't going to worry about it anymore. Sometimes, though, I'd wonder. Catherine and I would talk about our fears about being older mothers and the complications that go along with it. We'd always assure each other our babies would be just fine. And when we couldn't, we'd go to lunch with Avery and she'd assure us our babies would be just fine. Still, sometimes I'd worry about it so much I could feel the baby react to my worry, and I'd have to make myself get over it for the health of both of us.  
For most of my pregnancy, I tried to keep calm. I tried not to take everything so personally. I tried not to get so emotionally involved in some of the more gruesome crime scenes. Gil was always telling me to take it easy. He didn't like that I was working through my seventh month, but I told him I'd wear a mask whenever I processed. This didn't make him much happier, but he knows what a stubborn person I can be. 

Towards the end of July, during a summer of near-record highs, Nick and I headed out to a nasty scene in Henderson. There was a robbery, and a family of four was murdered. Gil stopped me before we left. Nick said he'd meet me at the car.

"Sara, this one's not going to be pleasant. The victims include a baby, and a mom who was pregnant. I don't know if you want--"

"I can handle it," I said quickly.

"Are you sure? I can send Greg or Chuck out, you know that."

I thought about it. He looked so worried, and I thought maybe I shouldn't go so he'd stop worrying about me so much. But in the end, my stubborn side made the decision for me.

"Gil, I'll be okay. I'll call you if I need out." He nodded and gave me a worried kiss. I flashed him a distracted smile and met Nick at the truck.

I was in a good mood, so I let Nick drive and even let him listen to his country music station on the way there.

Inside, Brass told us about the scene.

"Hey, guys. We have a pregnant mother, a father, and an 8 year old boy upstairs. They were all shot twice each."

"Grissom said there was a baby?" I asked quietly.

"We haven't found the baby," he said sadly. "We're thinking the suspects might have taken him with them."

Ouch. That was not a pleasant thought.

Jim and Nick were both looking at me with pained expressions. I sighed. I was looking forward to getting this baby out of me so people would stop taking pity on me. It was one pregnancy symptom I could do without.

"Guys, I'm a professional. I can handle this; just let me do my job."

"We're only looking out for you, Sara," Nick said.

"I know, and I appreciate that, but I'd appreciate it more if we can do what we came here to do."

I should have let them talk me out of going inside. Actually, I should have listened to my husband when he was worried about me in the first place. But I didn't, and as soon as I stepped inside the house, I knew it was a mistake. But I kept going. I did my job. Nick absolutely wouldn't let me process the mother, and once I looked at her, I agreed. She'd been shot in the back twice, and she died with her hands on her belly. I felt a sadness for this woman I'd never felt in my entire life.

While I was processing the father, I heard something going on in the kitchen. "Nick!" I yelled. "What's going on?"

He didn't answer me, so I went in the kitchen to find out. When Nick saw me, he said, "Sara, you don't want to see this. I'm serious. Just go outside or something."

I didn't have to ask what he found, because my curiosity got the best of me and I looked at what he was holding. It was a baby. It was in a trashcan. And...well, it was not something anybody should ever have to see.

"Oh, God," I said. I ran outside and puked on the lawn. It was so hot outside. It was 9 in the morning and it was probably already 100 degrees. The heat made me even queasier, and I threw up again.

Nick ran outside and held my hair for me while I threw up. And when I was done, he said, "Um, Sara...I think your water just broke."

I looked down at the puddle that was forming around my feet. _This is not happening._ I tried to stay calm, so as not to make things any worse than they already were.

"Okay, well, you go back in and finish. Tell Brass I need to go to the hospital. And call Grissom."

He nodded and ran into the house to get Brass, who rushed outside and carefully put me in his car. He turned the siren on and floored it, and we made it to the hospital in about 3 minutes flat. I knew it was too late, though. I just knew.

Later, Gil sat by my side, tears in his eyes, while my doctor told us the news. _Premature, nothing they could do, died almost instantly._ The doctor didn't know exactly why it happened, but I blamed myself. I didn't know that Gil blamed himself for letting me go to that crime scene. Nick held himself responsible for me seeing the baby in the trashcan. Brass thought he could have gotten me to the hospital faster. We all blamed ourselves when really, it was just not destined to happen. I wasn't sure if I'd ever stop wondering about what I could have done to save my son.

His name would have been Daniel. That was my father's name. He would have liked baseball and been interested in science and math. He would have been our baby, but he never got that chance.


	3. The center cannot hold

**A/N - First of all, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! I myself am looking forward to opening some presents. And, you know, giving presents. Anyway.**

I'm afraid this chapter isn't much happier than the last one, but we all like angst, don't we? Angst is the best! The next chapter will be nicer, I swear...or do I?

_Turning and turning in the widening gyre  
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;  
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold,  
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,  
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere  
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;  
The best lack all conviction, while the worst  
Are full of passionate intensity._

- W.B. Yeats, The Second Coming -  


* * *

_  
November_

When the plane lands, I don't automatically get my phone out. First, I get some money out of the ATM. It's not something I want to do often. I am thinking I might have to get some kind of job when I make it to the Bay. It's not like they still pay you when you walk out the door without telling anybody, including your husband.

I find a taxi outside of the airport. I lean in and ask the driver, "Can you take me to Tomales Bay?" He nods reluctantly, and I get in. I take my phone out of my purse. I put my phone back in my purse. I repeat this activity 4 or 5 times before I finally dial Gil's cell phone number. He answers on the first ring.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

He exhales.

"Where are you?" I can hear the worry in his voice. I also hear a tinge of disappointment. The disappointment is what kills me.

"In San Francisco."

"Is your mom there?"

"I don't know, but she's not why I'm here," I say, trying to keep my tears out of my voice. "I'm looking for my dad."

He's silent. I know he's thinking I've lost my mind. Maybe he's right.

"I mean, I'm looking for information on my dad. Looking for someone who knew him, someone who knows anything about him. All I remember is the fighting and the drinking, and I don't remember him. I have to know."

"Are you coming back? You can't leave Hank here, Sara. You know how he gets when one of us is gone."

I frown. Hank was a mess when one of us was home and the other wasn't. He'd lie down on the bed and refuse to get up until we came home. I hope he'll forget about me soon. I can't stand the thought of him waiting for me to come home.

"I'm coming back. I don't know when. But it's not going to be soon. I can't come back until I get it together. You don't deserve a wife on the edge of sanity. You deserve...everything."

He sighed deeply. "As long as you say you're coming back, and as long as you will let me come visit you at least once, then I won't worry as much. But I am worried, Sara. Do I--I mean...do you want me to come out there or what? Do you want me to come get you? I just want you to be happy, you know that."

"You can come, just not now. You're not doing anything wrong, I swear. I'll be back."

"Okay. If you need anything, anything at all, call me."

"I will. I swear," I said, missing him more than ever.

"And, Sara...Catherine wants you to know she's sorry. She wants you to know that if she had anything to do with you leaving, she's so very sorry. She's a mess, you know. She really is blaming herself for all of this."

"It's not her, Gil. Tell her she had nothing to do with it."

"Okay, I will. I love you, Sara. Do what you need to do and come home to me."

"I love you. And I will."

We hang up. I feel a little bit guilty for the lie I told him. I do blame Catherine, and I've been blaming her for 3 months now. It's always easier to be mad when you have someone to blame.

* * *

  
_August_

"I want to go back to work," I told Gil when he came home from a long, grueling double shift. "I can't sit here and watch David Letterman and feel sorry for myself. There's always something for me to do at work, so please, I'm begging you, let me go back."

He sat down on the sofa next to me, carefully taking in the tissues strewn about on the table, the pills next to a bottle of water, Hank curled up next to me on the couch.

"Do you really think you're ready for that? It's only been 2 weeks. You should rest, Sara. Really."

"Why? Why do I need to rest? The baby's gone, Gil. Nobody's going to be waking us up crying. Nobody's going to need their diaper changed; nobody's going to need me to feed them at all hours of the day. He's gone. I don't need to rest."

I could hear what I was saying and I knew it wasn't exactly sane. I knew I had lost a part of myself that I'd never get back. I knew there was something inside of me that changed, and it wasn't a good change. I was going down a bad road, but I had no idea how to get myself back on track. I was a walking cliché, and I was really starting to hate myself for it.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to go back right now."

"Why, Gil? Please just tell me why, because I can't think of a reason."

He looked like he really didn't want to tell me the reason.

"Have you thought about Catherine at all? What it would be like to see her every day? Do you really want to put yourself through that? She still has another month until the baby's due, maybe you can wait until she's on maternity leave to come back."

"Of course I've thought about it. I'm not clueless. I just really hate sitting here and waiting. I don't know what I'm waiting for, because what I was waiting for is gone. Daniel's not coming back, no matter how long I wait."

Gil grimaced. He didn't like when I brought up Daniel's name. It seemed as though he was trying to distance himself from the whole thing. He tried to not think about it, because then maybe it didn't happen. I didn't do that. I thought about Daniel all the time. Every day. Every second of every minute of every hour.

"I honestly hate the idea of you coming back right now. But we _are_ really shorthanded, and I know you hate being away, so...but promise me you can handle it, Sara. Please tell me that I'm not making a huge mistake by letting you come back."

I felt bad for him. He had to deal with me being an emotional wreck at home, and he had to deal with everything going on in the lab at work. I knew sometimes he just wanted to go into his study and play with bugs. Maybe if I left, he could do that. That was the first time I thought about leaving, but I didn't take myself seriously at first. I should have. I should have done a lot of things, and going back to work was not one of them.

Needless to say, the first time I saw Catherine when I went back to work, I had to excuse myself. I went to the bathroom, locked the door and cried for nearly 30 minutes. Gil sent Judy, the receptionist, into the bathroom to make sure I was okay. I wiped my face, put in some eye drops, put a smile on my face and made myself walk out of the bathroom.

"Sara..." Gil said after I walked out.

"It was just the first time. I'm over it now. I promise."

I managed to convince myself that I was over it, and maybe I was, just a little. Because the next time I saw Catherine, I didn't cry, I just felt an intense, crazed anger that I've never felt before. She was so big and round and happy, and Warrick hovered around her with a huge, proud smile on his face. They didn't notice me staring at them, and I watched as he put his hand on her stomach and gave her a meaningful kiss.

I had to walk away. Unfortunately, I was going in the same direction Catherine was--to get our assignments for the night from Grissom.

"Nick and Sara, you take the smash and grab at the Bellagio. Chuck and Greg, you guys get the decomp. Sorry about that. Catherine, you take the car accident on the strip."

"Gil, come on! Why—"

"You're 8 months pregnant, Catherine. That's why. I'm taking the murder at the seedy motel off the strip. Sounds like suspicious circs, so that's exciting."

I was glad he didn't pair me with Catherine. That might have yielded disastrous results.

Before Nick and I headed out, Catherine tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around, expecting to see Gil, and saw her big, bulging belly instead.

"Sara, I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am about what happened. If there's anything I can do, don't hesitate to ask me."

_You can fuck off,_ is what I wanted to say, and then felt just a tiny bit bad. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. Still, it was so easy to blame the woman who was having the baby I wouldn't get to have.

Instead, I smiled and said, "Thanks, Catherine. I appreciate it." I left before I could say anything else. It was better for both of us.

* * *

  
I always liked working with Nick. We had a system, and it was easier to work with him than anyone else. He always knew when I wanted to talk and when I didn't; when it was better to leave me alone than to start a conversation.

I was dusting for prints on one of the cabinets that had been broken into when Nick decided to abuse the system. I hate it when people abuse the system.

"Hey, um, I was just wondering...do you want to talk about it? If you do, I'll listen. I'm a good listener," he said, watching me take fingerprints.

"I know you are, Nick. You are a great listener. But I don't want to talk about it. I can't even talk about it with Gil."

He nodded. I wanted him to drop the conversation and let me go back to ignoring everything but my job.

"Look, one of my sisters lost her baby. She went to therapy and it really helped her. Maybe you should look into that, you know?"

Gil had also quietly approached the subject of therapy, but I didn't want to talk to anybody about Daniel. Daniel was mine, and nobody else could have him. Not yet.

"I may do that eventually, but I'm not ready yet," I told Nick. "Thanks for caring. You're a sweetheart."

He nodded, and we worked silently for a moment. I could tell he's not finished talking yet. I dreaded what he has to say next.

"It must be hard to see Catherine, huh? It just has to suck, I bet."

The glare I gave him must have scared him, because he dropped a vase he was printing. We both watched as the vase shattered. We chuckled, because we knew we'd have to write about that in our report. Grissom wasn't going to be happy.

"Hey, I'm sorry I brought it up," he said on the way back to the lap. "I won't do it again, unless you want to talk about it."

I nodded. "Thanks."

I knew Nick cared about me. I knew everyone at the lab cared about me just like I cared about them. But this was something I was going through by myself, and I knew there was nobody, no one at all, who would understand what was going on inside my head.

* * *

  
A month went by. Catherine finally went on maternity leave, but that didn't make me feel any better. She was going to have her baby, and when she came back from maternity leave, she was going to tell us all about it. And then there would be endless stories about how much the baby cries, how cute she is when she sleeps, what happened after she took her first steps, what her first words were. I was going to have to listen to these stories with a smile on my face, and I was not looking forward to it. And yet I couldn't see a way out of it. I loved my job; I loved helping those victims that were never able to help themselves. It was what I lived for. I couldn't give it up just because I was jealous of my co-worker.

By the end of October, I felt like I was living 2 lives. One life was for public viewing, the other was when I was at home. At work I was a professional. When something made me angry, I'd hold it in until I got home. And when I got home, I'd cry. I'd hit my pillows. I'd take Hank for long, drawn out walks. Gil hated that. He always wanted to come with me, but I just wanted to be alone. Hank understood. He'd lick my tears off my face when I cried. It was disgusting, but it was also really sweet.  
Grissom didn't know what to do with me. He held me when I cried. He assured me it wasn't my fault that Daniel never made it to the world. He never let go of me when we went to bed. He did everything he knew how to do, and I started thinking more and more about leaving when that wasn't enough. This man that I gave up a marriage for, this man that I considered my soul mate, this incredible man was trying everything in his heart to make me feel something I thought I'd never feel again -- happiness. My heart was breaking for him, just like I knew his heart was breaking for me.

I decided it was absolutely necessary to leave when Catherine brought her baby into the lab. Gil told me she was coming by. Well, he warned me was more like it. I knew I should have stayed away. I knew I should have stayed at home that day. But morbid curiosity got the best of me, and I joined the throngs of people who were clamoring to get a look at Catherine's little girl.

Her name was Sam, after Catherine's late father. Catherine didn't know I named my son after my late father. Or maybe she did, I don't know. Either way, it was just one of the things that made me react the way I did.

When Catherine saw me, she smiled warmly. It was a genuine smile, the smile only a mother of a newborn could possess. This was another thing that made me react the way I did. I wanted to smile that way, too. I deserved to smile that way.

Nick, Greg, and Jim were all cooing over the baby girl. When they saw me coming, they smiled awkwardly and told Catherine they'd see her later. They all looked at me funny as I approached Catherine. I knew everyone in that room wondered what the hell I was doing, including me.

"She's beautiful," I told Catherine. "Just a gorgeous baby."

"Thank you, Sara. I just...I don't know what to say."

"I know. Neither do I."

I touched Sam's little wrinkled fingers. She looked up at me, squinting her tiny eyes, and then she grabbed my finger. It awoke something in me; that feeling I got when I felt the baby swimming around in my stomach. It made me feel so alive, but this time, it also made me feel a deep layer of grief wash through me. This grief was stronger than any feeling I ever had, and I knew I wasn't going to be able to get rid of it this time.

Catherine laughed. "She does that a lot. It's really incredible."

"I should have had this," I said softly. "I should have had a baby that grabs my finger."

"Sara..."

"I deserve a baby, Catherine," I said, still softly. "You already have one. You're older than me. Why did you get to have this one and I didn't? I deserve a baby."

Warrick rushed into the room to see me staring at Catherine like a crazed zombie. He took Sam from her and looked at Catherine with a question mark on his face. She shook her head. "It's okay. I'll meet you outside in a minute."

She turned back to me. "Nobody knows why some babies are lost, Sara. You're right; you deserved to have that baby. You and Gil should be at home, watching your boy in his cradle, talking about his future. But you're not, and that's okay. It's not your fault. Just like it's not my fault, either."

I stared at her. She stared back.

"I should have that baby, Catherine. You're the one who should have lost it. YOU are the one who should have lost it." Before I could say anything else, Gil rushed in faster than Warrick had and took my hand, leading me out of the room. I let him, because even I knew at that point that I was losing it.

He led me to the break room, where I sat on the couch and sank into the cushions. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry, Gil. I know I promised you."

"It's hard for me, too," he said, wiping my tears with his sleeve. "I told Catherine that I wouldn't be able to see Sam for a while. I know I can't. And you know you can't."

I nodded.

"I don't know why I did."

"I want you to go home right now, okay? You can come back tomorrow, but for now, you need to cool off. We'll talk more when I get home."

I went home, but we didn't talk. Not that he didn't try, I just didn't let him. And for the next 2 weeks, I did my job. I helped the victims while I stopped helping myself. What sent me to McCarran airport with nothing but my purse was a gruesome domestic violence case. At the hospital, Greg and I processed the victim of a violent attack. We watched helplessly while a policeman took down a husband who came into the hospital room and punched our victim, his wife, in the gut. He screamed at her and she was too tired to scream back. It was a scene I was all too familiar with.

I left because I had to. I left because if I didn't, something was going to happen. I didn't want my husband to see me any worse than I already was. I was, am, a mess with a capital M. I was losing it, and I had to do something about it. So I wrote Gil a note, and then I left.

It had to get better, because if not, it was going to get worse. And I didn't think I could take anything worse.


	4. Time's fell hand

**Well, I certainly apologize for the delay. You know, holidays, writer's block, CSI muse has forsaken me...all those regular excuses. I do promise you that I will finish this story the way I originally intended, and I will not abandon ship, no matter how long it takes to get this thing out. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thanks as always to GSFanatic for the beta skillz.**

_When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced  
The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age;  
When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed  
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage;  
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain  
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,  
And the firm soil win of the watery main,  
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store;  
When I have seen such interchange of state,  
Or state it self confounded to decay,  
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate  
That Time will come and take my love away.  
This thought is as a death which cannot choose  
But weep to have that which it fears to lose._

- Shakespeare, Sonnet 64, When I Have Seen By Time's Fell Hand -

* * *

As the taxi driver takes me to Tomales Bay, I peer out the window at the sights of San Francisco. It is a beautiful city; a city that I fell in love with a long time ago. Vegas is nice, but it won't ever hold the place in my heart that this place does. The only thing I love about Vegas is the person that lives there, and who I am and how I feel when I'm with that person. But San Francisco, it has my soul. I think briefly about calling Robert and maybe having a drink with him or something, but I decide not to. He doesn't have anything to do with why I'm here. So I decide to call the person that does.I've talked to my mother exactly 3 times since she's gotten out of jail. The first time was 14 years ago when she was first released. We both acknowledged that she was out of jail and that this wouldn't change our relationship, which was non-existent. It wasn't that I didn't want to know my mother again. It was more that I felt like I never knew her, and I wasn't exactly keen on getting to know her again. So many years of therapy and not one of my 4 psychiatrists could tell me how to make the nightmares stop. They eventually did. After I stopped seeing the psychiatrists.

10 years passed between the first call and the second call. Not a day went by that I didn't think of picking up a phone, any goddamned phone, to call her. I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to tell her about my job, about Robert, about meeting Gil. And almost every time my head hit my pillow, in between being awake and falling asleep, I'd mourn my faded relationship with the woman who gave birth to me. But 4 years ago, she called me to tell me something I knew would happen eventually--my brother Nathan was dead. He died in a drug deal gone bad, she told me, shot 3 times in the head. Robert had to pick me up off the floor that day. He pried the cell phone out of my hand and eventually had to give me some Valium to help calm me down. Needless to say, I did not handle this news well, even if it didn't surprise me at all. Nathan had always lived in the shadows, and we always knew his life was never destined to be long.

My mother didn't call me when Robert and I got married, but she did call me when I married Gil. I don't know how she found out, but she did. She called me on my cell phone, while Gil and I were on our honeymoon in Tennessee. We went to the body farm out there. He wanted to go there because when we first met, on the first day of a lecture he did in San Francisco, I mentioned being curious about it. He admitted he was curious about this woman who had a fascination with dead bodies, and he knew he wanted to take me there. Well, he tells the story better than I do. He's so cute when he talks about the day we met.

On the first night of our honeymoon, my mother called right before Gil and I went to bed. For some reason, when I didn't recognize the number, I knew it would be her. I just knew.

"Sara?" She asked hesitantly when I said hello.

"Mom?" I said, even more hesitantly. Gil, who was doing a crossword puzzle while waiting for me to come to bed, looked at me with instant concern plain on his face. I shook my head. It would be okay. My mother, I could handle.

"I heard you got married today. Congratulations, honey. I'm really happy for you, and I wish I could have been there."

"Thank you," I said, guarding every instinct that I had. I wasn't sure what her motives were, and it made me nervous.

"Well, I'll leave you to it. You must be on your honeymoon, so I'm sure there are other things you'd rather be doing." She laughed. I allowed myself to give her a chuckle.

"Okay. Thank you, Mom. Thank you for calling me."

"You're welcome. Take care of yourself, Sara." And she hung up. It was bizarre, yes. But it was nice, too. I appreciated it. I would have appreciated it more if she didn't kill my father, but that's not the point. 

* * *

  
So now I sit here in this cab after talking to my worried husband, pondering what I should say to my mother. I know I need to talk to her. I know she deserves to know what I'm doing, and if I don't tell her, somehow she'll find out anyway. Part of me wants to talk to her, anyway. Part of me wants to tell her everything that's ever happened to me, the part of me just wants my mommy. Usually I'm able to keep that part of me at bay, but I don't want to this time.

I look out the window. We're still in San Francisco, probably about 45 minutes away from the Bay. So I get out my phone. I dial the number I found for her on the internet. And she answers. Even though I rarely talk to her, I know my mother's voice when I hear it. It's a strong voice; a voice that's been through the ringer but always knows what to say. It's a voice with a past, one that I instantly recognize.

"Mom," I say.

"Sara? Honey, are you okay?" She sounds worried. Not surprised that it's the first time I've called her in a very long time, just genuinely worried.

"Yes, I'm okay." And then I stop to think. If I'm going to do this, I may as well be honest.

"Well...no, I'm not okay. Some shitty things have been going on, and I can't let Grissom...Gil, my husband, I can't let him see me like this. So I left, and I'm coming back home, and there's some stuff that I want to know about."

"Oh, honey, honey...why go to California? You can come out here to see me."

"Out here" is Georgia. I know this because once I found her number online; I looked up the area code. Her sister used to live in Atlanta; I figured that's where she went when she was released from prison.

"I will, Mom. I will come to Georgia eventually, but not right now. I have some things I need to do."

"What do you need to do, Sara? What's in California that you need to find?"

I sigh. She waits.

"Dad," I say simply.

"Sara..."

"No, Mom, listen. I don't know anything about him. I know there was more to him than the drinking. I know there was more than abuse. I want to know who he was before he started fading away. There must have been something about him that made you want to spend your life with him, and I want to know about that part. I need this. I just...do."

She was silent for a minute or two. I wonder what she's thinking about; measuring out in her head what to tell me and what not to tell me.

"If you come here, I can tell you everything you've ever wanted to know about him."

"I know that," I say, slightly annoyed. "But I want to do it on my own. You can understand that, right?"

I hear her sigh.

"I can. I guess I would have a somewhat biased opinion. Do what you have to do, but promise me that in the end, you'll come back here. Okay? I want to see you, Sara. It's been long enough."

"I agree. I'll come to Atlanta when I find what I need to know."

"I would really like that," she says wistfully. "I would. And, Sara…I understand why you don't want my help with this, but let me give you one word of advice—start your journey at the Wild Horse Inn. That was the place we used to run, remember?"

Ah, yes, the bed and breakfast. When my parents owned it, it was called the Rambling Rose. The surly man who bought it from us thought it sounded way too hippie-like, so he changed the name.

"Okay. I'll make sure to check it out. I'll see you soon, Mother. I promise."

"Remember, Sara, tomorrow is the first--"

"The first day of the rest of my life. I know, Mother."

This is something she used to tell me every time I visited her in jail. I think she thought it was some kind of motherly wisdom that I would keep in mind when I wasn't around her. In reality, it just annoyed me. What does it even mean, anyway?

We say our goodbyes. I look forward to seeing my mother, and I hope I can make that journey soon. But the problem is, I have no idea what it is I'm looking for, really. I want to know anything about my father. I want to know what he was like in high school. I want to know if he had any hobbies. There are so many things I want to know, but there are just as many things that I'm scared to find out.

* * *

  
When the taxi nears Tomales Bay, I get out my phone and call Tamara. She knew I'd be coming eventually, she just didn't know when.  
She's happy to hear from me, and she gives me the address of the tiny townhouse she shares with her husband. I repeat the address for the driver, and he nods. Before I hang up, she says she's waiting for me. It's nice to have someone waiting for me.

10 minutes later, we cruise through the Bay. I know if I put the window down, all the familiar scents of my childhood will come pouring through the cab. I keep the window up.

Still, I am startled by the images that flash before my eyes. Even when I went to school and worked in San Francisco, I made it a point to never come back "home." I haven't been here in, well, it must be about 20 years by now. It still looks the same. It still looks beautiful, quaint, salty. But it also looks like lies, betrayal, murder. I feel slightly nauseous, but I tell myself that I can get through this. I have a mission, and it's not going to help anyone if I turn back now.

Finally, the taxi arrives at Tamara's house. I thank the driver, pay him with an extra-generous tip, and meet Tamara at the door. She smiles happily when she sees me, and we hug like two old friends.

"It's so good to see you, Sara. Where are your bags?" She asks, noticing I only have my purse with me.

"This is it," I tell her. "It was sort of a spontaneous decision."

"Of course," she says. "Well, I'm glad you made it."

She ushers me in, and her Great Dane, Smith, rushes over to meet me. He looks very regal and loyal, and he makes me miss big, drooly Hank.

"Oh, he's harmless," Tamara tells me. She pets Smith, who is still trying to make up his mind about me.

"I have one at home," I say. "His name is Hank. Gil named him after Hank Aaron. I tried to change his mind because I used to have a boyfriend named Hank, this guy I dated for a few months right before Robert. But Gil was determined, and he seemed so excited about it. I hate the name, but what can I do? Gil wanted to name him after his hero."

_Why am I rambling?_ I wonder. Tamara doesn't make me uncomfortable, she never has. Maybe I really am losing it.

Tamara is not surprised that I've left Vegas to come back to my hometown. She's been expecting it, and even somewhat encouraged it. She is an old friend of my brother's, perhaps the only real friend he ever had in his life. We talk through email a lot, and in the last one she sent me, I happened to mention that everything in my life was kind of coming unglued. I wasn't going to tell her about the baby until I saw her in person, but somehow she figured it out. Tamara always knows. There's just something about her. I think that's what attracted Nathan to her, because unlike everyone else in his life, she was always willing to tell him the truth. I wonder if she misses him. I know I do. Come to think about it, there are a lot of people in my life that I miss. I should probably do something about that.

Tamara's husband Jordan comes sweeping in the living room and gives me a big bear hug. He's a big guy, and he almost picks me up off the ground. I've never met this man in my life, so I just smile and give him a friendly nod.

"He's harmless, too," Tamara says, smiling. "Jordan, this is Sara. Sara, Jordon is my big dork of a husband."

He gives her a big, sloppy kiss and I watch, unable to take my eyes off of them. They remind me of when I stood in Catherine and Warrick's kitchen 2 years ago, still married to Robert, still pining over Gil, watching Catherine and Warrick make out like teenagers. It made me sad. I wish I was back there now, not knowing the pain that I have come to know since then.

"Tamara says you'll be staying here for a while," Jordan says. "That's great. We don't have a lot of friends out here; they all live in San Francisco."

"Thank you so much for letting me stay in your home," I say to both of them. "I really appreciate it, I can't tell you how much."

They both smile, and Tamara shows me to the guest room. It's small like the rest of the house, but I don't need anything big.

I sit down on my new bed, which has a comforter that has a tiny little ladybug pattern woven into it. Of course this makes me think of Gil. He has this affection for ladybugs that I don't quite understand.

I have chosen to stay with Tamara not because she's an old friend, which she is. It's because I've seen her at some of her most vulnerable moments, and for some reason, she's the only one I trust to see me at mine. She loved my brother and he loved her, and together they lived a life that most people only read about. Sometimes I was envious of my brother and how he never wanted a stable, predictable life. I envied that part of him that could never stay in one place. But that one trait, the trait that made it impossible for him to settle down, was the trait that turned out to be his ultimate downfall. Tamara, however, managed to turn it around after he died.

"I miss Gil already," I tell Tamara now. "I know I'm doing the right thing, but I miss him like crazy."

She smiles and sits next to me on the bed.

"It's hard, Sara. When I came out here, I was just like you. Well, not just...but you know what I mean. I have no idea what it's like to lose a baby, but I do know what it's like to lose someone you know you'll never get over."

I look up at her, tears stinging my eyes.

"How do you do it? How do you keep going without wanting to die a little every single day?"

She finds a box of tissues on the dresser and gives me a handful. I wipe the tears from my eyes, knowing that I must look like a mess.

"Well...you just have to. Therapy helped me a lot. And then Jordan came along. He's nothing like Nathan. Nathan was quiet and smart. Street smart, I mean. Jordan is book smart. He can tell me who the 15th president of the US was. He can solve complicated math equations in his head. But he has no idea what it's like on the streets. I tell him stories of my old life, and he always shakes his head like he doesn't believe me."

"What is that like, though? Having someone who has no idea what you've been through?" I ask carefully.

"It sucks sometimes," she says. "But he's amazing in so many ways, Sara. He's everything Nathan wanted to be, you know? Nathan just didn't have any self control. He didn't have the ability to say no. He always said he'd never take heroin, but when someone offered it to him, he couldn't pass it up. And that's what ultimately killed him."

"I know, and that worries me. Because I worry...I worry I'll end up like him, or like my mom. A few years ago, I actually shot a man while I was on the job. I mean, I had to--he was about to shoot Gil. But it made me feel like my mom; like I have that...whatever she had, inside of me. And sometimes, when I've had too much to drink and feel like doing terrible, terrible things, I feel like I could go down the same path Nathan did. We have the same genes. We shared the same experiences. Why not?"

Tamara shakes her head almost violently. She hands me another tissue and I blow my nose. And then she talks.

"You know I loved--love--Nathan more than anything. I was the Bonnie to his Clyde. We got into a lot of shit together, and I will never forget what we went through. But, Sara, you aren't like him. You both saw your father die a brutal, violent death, but he handled it differently. You're in law enforcement to help change the world. He didn't want any part of that. He just wanted to go down with the ship. He wanted to drift along until the tide swept him away. You are so, so strong. You will handle losing your baby the same way you've handled everything else--with strength, dignity and courage. We're all allowed our moments of weakness, but I promise you, you will not end up like your big brother. You're too strong for that."

I smile at her gratefully. I think of a memory of Tamara and my brother that I've never been able to forget. When I was 17, she and Nathan picked me up at the foster home where I was staying and took me to the mess of a shack where they lived together. When they thought I was occupied in front of the TV, I watched as Tamara injected him with something that made him close his eyes and sigh. When she was done, she gave herself an injection with the same needle. I know that if she can make something out of her life after falling that far, so can I. We all have our secrets and our pasts, and some of us just have different reactions to it. I guess it's just a choice we all have to make for ourselves.

"And by the way," Tamara says, interrupting my unpleasant memory. "I think what you're doing; trying to find out more about your dad...I think that's amazing. I know all the stories and I know that he was not the greatest man. But Nathan never wanted to know anything about his dad. He wanted to pretend nothing ever happened. And I think by facing it, you're confronting all the things that haunt you. And I think that's the best thing you can be doing right now."

I nod, and blow my nose again. This is why I wanted to come here. Tamara always did know how to summarize a situation,

We talk for a little while longer, and then she and Jordan go to bed. It's almost midnight. Any other day and I'd be getting ready to go to work. Gil and I would say good night to a very sad Hank, collect our stuff, and ride to the lab together. When we got to work, everyone would always look up from what they were doing when we walked in and grin at each other, like they caught us in the act. It was dumb, but I never got tired of it.

I close my eyes and think about what Tamara said. I feel better about this quest I'm on. It sucks to leave everything behind, but in the end, I know Gil will be grateful to have the real, healthy version of me and not the broken shell I've been for too long now.

After a while, I lay down on the ladybugs and close my eyes. Tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of my life. 


	5. Do not go gentle into that goodnight

**A/N - It's been a while, and I do apologize for the ridiculous delay. The next chapter won't take so stupid long, I hope. Also, it's kind of hard to tell what people think of this story, so if you could leave me feedback of any kind, I would really appreciate it lots. Thanks for reading, and thanks big time for your patience. Mucho thanks to GSFanatic, who has ever-lasting patience, awesome ideas, and much needed encouragement.**

* * *

_And you, my father, there on the sad height,  
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.  
Do not go gentle into that good night.  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. _

**- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas - **

* * *

There's something happening in the air, I can feel it, and it's so beautiful. The mountains, the sun on my face, the ocean...it's incredible. And If I don't open my eyes, maybe it'll be real.

My dad and I are on a road trip. He doesn't tell my mom or my brother, we just go one day when they're out shopping for shoes. He grabs my hand, puts me in the car and we go. He asks me before he starts the car, "Left or right?" I say, "Right." He turns right out into the driveway. We play this game until somehow we make it all the way to San Francisco. We buy ice cream and park in a field so we can stare at the Golden Gate Bridge while the sun is setting. I'm 9 years old, and I can already tell that this is going to be a memory I'll cherish forever. That is, until I open my eyes.

And then I wake up and realize that it's 30 years later. And while I wipe the fog from my eyes, I realize that our road trip to San Francisco never actually happened. My father always promised we'd just get in the car and go, but we never got around to it. Somehow, the thought that my dream wasn't real hurts more than the fact that my father never gave it a chance to be real. This is somehow heartbreaking, even after everything that's happened.

It takes me a minute to remember that I'm in Tomales Bay. Gil is not here. He's not soundly sleeping. He's not snoring or wearily smiling at me from squinty eyes or grasping Hank for dear life, which I wake up to find him doing every now and then. Hank is not allowed on the bed, but sometimes he makes his way up there anyway.

But there's no Hank, no Gil, just me and the ladybug comforter.

I am not particularly happy about this fact, but it is a direct result of my actions, right? I was the one who decided to leave my husband and my life in Las Vegas behind just so I could finally confront some stale California ghosts. Is this a mistake? I'd like to think not. Today I'm going to make sure that I find out.

There are hidden corners of Tomales Bay that I want to rediscover before I go digging into something that I know will give me mixed emotions. I know my father wasn't a saint, and I know there are a lot of things I never wanted to know about him. But I've spent way too long trying to convince myself that I don't want to know. Now, I have to know, because something is missing in my life, and it feels like it has to do with my father. I try not to think about what will happen if I find the information I was looking for, and still feel like something's missing. The thought is mildly terrifying.

My mother wants me to start my mission at the Wild Horse Inn, but I know I have to work my way up to that particular bed and breakfast. Not only is it the inn that my mom and dad used to own and operate, but I know who runs it now, and I'm not ready to face her yet. Actually, I don't know if I'll ever be able to face her, but she's a vital part of my past, and I know I have to.

I begrudgingly get out of bed, go to the bathroom, and brush my teeth. I look at a clock and am startled to see that it's almost noon. I can't believe I've slept this long. I think about calling Gil, knowing that he's probably getting ready to go to bed. I don't call him. He has other things to worry about right now, like the fact that I left in the middle of a shift and nobody has any idea why. I hate that he has to pick up the pieces I left behind, but there's not much I can do about it right now. I'll make it up to him later, when I've gotten myself back together and he doesn't have to have a mess of a wife anymore. Oh, how I hope that day will come sooner than later.

Tamara is at her computer when I come looking for her in the small but comfortable house. She mostly works from home to avoid the commute from San Francisco.

"Hey, lady. Did you sleep well?" She asks. I sit on the sofa and watch her furiously type without looking at the keyboard once. I admire her typing skills until I remember she just asked me a question.

"Oh, yeah, I did. I'm surprised as to how well, actually," I say. I thought sleep would be fitful, and instead it was one the best night's sleep I'd had in ages. It was somewhat of a relief, honestly. Sleeping with Gil is one of my favorite things to do, but I always sleep better by myself. The thought used to make me sad, but we talked about it once and he admitted he felt the same way. We both laughed and tried to make light of it, but I think we were both hurt and also a little surprised that sleeping with each other wasn't a magical cure for all of life's problems.

"We have some breakfast if you'd like," Tamara says. "Pancakes and stuff."

"No, thanks. I'm not really hungry." And I'm not. At all. I know I need to eat eventually; I haven't eaten since before shift the day before. But the thought of putting anything in my mouth makes me want to vomit. It's something I'd rather not think about right now. If Gil were here, he'd give me that look of his; that look of loving disappointment. God, I miss that man.

Tamara nods distractedly, and I wonder what's really going on in her head these days. She has a loving husband and a nice, comfortable house, but does she ever miss her life of destruction she and my brother lived together? This is something I do--I'm always wondering if people are satisfied with the lives they have, or if they miss the lives they left behind. It's bizarre how I'm never really happy no matter where I am. Gil is my soul mate, and even he can't make the ghosts disappear. I remind myself that this is why I'm here.

"So what are your plans today?" She asks me.

"I just want to walk around and get used to these surroundings. It's been a long time and I just want to reacquaint myself with the environment."

Mostly this is the truth. But it's also because I'm terrified of doing what I came here to do. Not yet. Soon, but not yet.

"Well, you can use my bike if you want. It's in the garage. It's a little old and rusty, but it gets around," she said. "Kind of like me."

We both chuckle.

"Oh, before I forget, you got a phone call this morning."

"Grissom?" I ask as she hands me the message.

"No, wasn't him," she says, trying to hide the pity in her voice. "I think it was your..."

"Ex-husband," I finish for her. I have no idea why Robert would call me here or, for that matter, how he even found me here.

"Thanks," I say. "I'll give him a call later."

I know Robert is probably worried about me. I know Gil is probably worried about me, too. I know I should probably call both of them, and usually, I'm very prompt to return a phone call. It's just that I don't want to talk to people who are going to be worried about me, and I'm pretty sure I've earned my right to be selfish, so I don't call either of them. I go for a bike ride instead.

I inspect the bike in the garage. It is rather rusty, but it's cute, and I'm in no shape to be picky.

Tomales Bay is a tiny town with a population of only about 200 people. I've always wondered why a bed and breakfast in a town so small always attracted so many visitors. Tamara mentioned that there are hiking trails and kayaking trips that tourists flock to, and I make a note to check those out at some point.

The town is also part of the Point Reyes National Seashore, and it's only about 15 miles long. I can probably ride my bike through the whole length of the town today if I'm feeling ambitious, but there's one destination that I have in mind. I'm not sure if I can remember how to get there, but I'm at the beach in minutes, as though I never really left it.

The beach is aptly named Heart's Desire Beach. I take my shoes and socks off and wander towards the ocean. It's been more than 20 years since I've slipped my toes into the cool blue water of the sea, but it feels exactly the same. It's close to 2 PM and there's a smattering of people lying in the sun, but I don't notice them. The smell of the breeze, the taste of the salt air, the sun beating down on me, the sweat collecting on my brow, the refreshing ocean water running through my veins...it surprises me. It surprises me because it feels like coming home. I thought home was wherever Gil Grissom is, but this ocean calls to me. It tells me secrets when it used to tell me lies. It tells me all of the things I missed while I was gone, and how glad it is that I have returned.

Although my mom would take my brother and I to the beach on weekends, this place does not remind me of her, or my father, or my brother. The beach reminds me of Alan Leighton, the boy I lost my virginity to, right here on this beach.

We were both 15, and we were both in foster care. I was in a group home because my first foster family, the Millers, already had 6 other children and that was not a situation that I could thrive in and/or enjoy. Alan was someone I met at school. At 15, I smoked all the time. I wore my hair up every day. I didn't wear make-up and I didn't do anything else that could identify me easily as a female. I'm not sure why he was attracted to me--I certainly wasn't trying to get the attention of anyone, much less that of the male species--but I enjoyed his company. We laughed a lot, I remember that. He was fascinated by my tales of foster care, because he himself had 2 parents, a sister, a brother, and 3 dogs. He couldn't relate, and I liked that. The boys in foster care were all trying to prove something to someone, and that got old fast. Alan wasn't like that. It was refreshing.

I wonder about Alan. We had one of those awkward, all-encompassing teenage relationships for about a year before one of us, or both of us, lost interest completely. He was my first love; the first person other than a counselor that I told about my family. He'd caress my scars and ask me where each one came from, and actually listened when I told him. My scars have faded now, but the memories of the first man who ever really loved me, even if he was a boy at the time, have not. Maybe I'll look him up while I'm on this ghost hunting journey.

I sit in the sand for an hour, watching the waves and thinking about my father. He hated the beach. There were a lot of things he hated, and I can't remember a lot of things he actually enjoyed. I remind myself that's the reason why I'm here, and sitting on this beach is not going to reveal the answers that I need. Eventually I make myself get up, even though I can stay here all day. There are so many other places I want to see before I do the hard work.

On the way back, I pass by the Wild Horse Inn. I could go in there. I could find her, and demand answers to every question I've had about my father. And she'd probably know most of the answers, too. But there is a time and place for everything, and this is not the time. I'm feeling too passionate; too worked up to accomplish anything important today.

As if on cue, the wind starts picking up. I remember getting out of school and bracing myself for the wind to start up, which it inevitably did most of the time. This is another memory that I stored in the back of my brain, and the dismissal of it makes me miss my mom and dad so much I can barely even breathe.

I pass by the Marconi Conference Center. I remember it used to be owned by the drug rehabilitation cult, Synanon. My brother was fascinated by the place and the story, and my mom would tell us about how she almost got mixed up with them because many of her friends got sucked into it. Her stories about her friends were one of the reasons why I never felt the urge to indulge in drugs, and yet I think it did the opposite for my brother.

I'm finally hungry, so I decide to be a bad vegetarian and stop by the Tomales Bay Oyster Company, yet another place that brings back a rush of memories. This _is_ a place that reminds me of my father, and a lot. We didn't go out a lot as a family, but we always came here on my dad's birthday. I try to remember if we ever had any arguments here, and I don't recall any, which is amazing.

I see a few families enjoying some oysters, and they all look vaguely familiar to me. In Vegas, nobody ever looks familiar, and sometimes it gets very, very lonely. Not for the first time today, I wonder how a place that I remember hating so much makes me feel so at home. It's a little confusing, but it's what I need right now. At least that's what I'm trying to tell myself.

An hour later, I'm feeling a little tired and a little sick from the oysters, so I head on back to Tamara's to maybe take a nap. I put the bike back in the garage. When I open the door to the house, the door literally hits my ex-husband on his ass. He yelps and I stare at him in confusion.

"Robert...what the hell?" I'm not sure what else to say.

He's too busy rubbing his apparently aching ass to reply. Tamara looks at me and shrugs. "He just showed up. I told him you were out, he said he would wait."

Robert looks at me, really looks at me, and it's freaking me out. Not that he wasn't a compassionate person, but he never looked at me with such concern before.

I sigh. "Fine. Come outside, we'll talk."

We walked outside and sat on the porch. He wouldn't stop staring at me.

"Stop staring at me. It's unnerving."

He chuckled annoyingly.

"What are you doing here, exactly?" I ask impatiently. "I know San Francisco isn't far away, but come on."

"Well, I called you this morning and Gil answered. He told me that you took off, and that you were here. He sounded like he was freaking out, so I told him I'd come check on you. And then you didn't return my call, so I was worried."

Usually the thought of the two men who have meant the most to me in my life being so concerned would make me smile, but I am annoyed by this.

"Why do you need to check on me? Do you think I can't make it on my own? That'll I'll do something crazy?"

Robert looks confused.

"Of course not, Sara. You're the strongest woman I know. But to walk out in the middle of your job and not even let your husband know, that's weird. Come on, you know it's strange."

"I don't think it's that strange, but apparently I've lost all concept of reality."

He puts his arm around me, and I let him. There's something very comfortable about someone who knows me as intimately as Robert does, although he'll never know as much about who I am or what I'm all about like Gil does and always has.

"I know you were shaken up after losing the baby, we all know that. So we're worried that you're making this drastic decision to leave over something you can't do anything about." I grimace. He keeps going. "What are you doing out here, Sara? Your father only made you miserable. Why would you want to bring yourself so close to that feeling again?"

I should have known nobody would understand. I try explaining it to him anyway.

"But that's not true, he didn't only make me miserable," I say. "There were some good times in between the shitty ones. And I want to know what made him the way he was. I want to know what he was like when he was little. I want to know what kind of grades he made in school. I don't know, Robert...I kind of feel like I owe it to him or something. Is that so crazy?"

He reluctantly shakes his head.

"I guess not. But maybe in the future you can plan it better? You know, take a few vacation days? Maybe tell a few people that you're leaving?"

"I'll think about it," I say, and he pinches me. I pinch him back.

It's nice to not have any bitterness between us after the divorce, because I would hate to lose the understanding that Robert and I have. It's hard to explain, but I'm just glad it exists. It's comfortable, it always has been. The only problem was that it was too comfortable, and that's what ultimately led to the break up of our marriage. Well, that and the fact I slept with Gil before the marriage was officially over. But that's a story for another time.

"Just be careful," he says. "I know you're intent on finding out more about the dead, but the living still care about you, too."

"I know. But I know what I'm doing, and I can't leave until I find some things out."

"For the record, your husband is a mess. I mean, it's like he lost his favorite cockroach or something."

I glare at him. He laughs. He thinks it's weird that Gil is so into bugs. I would never admit it, but I agree. It's endearing, of course, but it's also bordering on creepy sometimes.

"He'll be okay. He's got Hank, and he's got the lab. Sometimes I think he's better off without me anyway, you know?"

"No, I don't know. He's a good man, even I can see that, and he loves you. Promise me you're not going to lose yourself out here, Sara. I don't want to see that happen to you; you've come too far for that. Promise?"

"I promise," I say. He smiles and kisses my forehead. We say our goodbyes, and I watch him drive away. What I couldn't tell him is that I lost myself a long time ago, and I have no idea if I'll ever find my way again.


	6. In the Heart of a Friend

**A/N - I suck. I am very aware of this, and I apologize on behalf of the suck. This chapter is a little slow, but the next one will be full of awkward confrontation and conflict, I promise! As always, thanks to the ever-patient GSFanatic, who pokes me every now and then to see if I'm still alive so that I can finish this here story. Thanks for reading, y'all. And yes, the poem was chosen pretty much because I watched Ending Happy last night.**

**I don't own Longfellow or CSI! Duh.**

_I shot an arrow into the air,  
It fell to earth, I knew not where;  
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight  
Could not follow it in its flight._

I breathed a song into the air,  
It fell to earth, I knew not where;  
For who has sight so keen and strong,  
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak  
I found the arrow, still unbroke;  
And the song, from beginning to end,  
I found again in the heart of a friend.

**I Shot An Arrow Into The Air, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow**

For a week, I explore all the nooks and crannies of my childhood. Time and distance has eroded my memories of this town, but I remember the important things. I remember that spot on the beach, where I was the first time I saw my dad hit my mom. I was 5 years old. I thought they were just playing and so I laughed. Oh, I can't imagine what they must have thought when I laughed about that. My mom looked like I was the one who hit her. It still breaks my heart just to think about that day more than 30 years later.

Every day, I wade in the ocean, allowing the water to remind me of everything unpleasant I've been trying to suppress for all these years. Many people have suggested some kind of therapy, but I've been there and done that. I know my way around a therapist. I know what to do, what to say, what body language I need to have to convince them that I'm okay. A therapist couldn't help me any more than anyone else could. And so, as the water cools my nearly sunburned skin, that old familiar feeling once again settles over me--I am alone. Always have been, and I don't see how I won't always will be.

Yes, I have friends. Yes, I have both a husband and an ex-husband who look over me, care about me, and love me. I have many people who would come help me at the drop of a hat. But none of them have experienced what I experienced. The one person in the world who saw the same thing I did, my brother, dealt with it in the most destructive way possible and now he's dead. I am alone, and no one knows how to tell me any different.

Ironically, I know what my father would have to say about my feelings. He would say, "You aren't unique, Sara. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and shake it off." He was never one to dwell on things. I didn't inherit that carefree way of dealing with life from him, although I wish I did. I inherited his eyes, though. My brother used to tease me that I also inherited my dad's toes. My mother and brother had tiny toes; my dad and I had long, alien-like toes. This is actually something I'm proud of, funny enough.

At the end of another long day where I accomplish nothing but bringing back terrible memories, I come back to the house. Tamara can see that I'm having some kind of pity festival and does her best to cheer me up. This week, we've played Uno, we watched Thelma and Louise, we made cookies. This cheers me up for maybe an hour at a time, and then I go back to sulking.

"Sara," Tamara began as we were washing the dishes after dinner. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," I say, thinking it was going to be about my plans for the next day or something similar.

"You don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but I'm just curious...why did you come here if it makes you so unhappy? You have an amazing husband at home, a rewarding career, a life in Vegas. You've been here for nearly a week and it seems like it's making you even more miserable."

I consider this. I think about getting defensive, which is my first, most natural instinct. But I realize she is making a good point here, and it's her right to be curious about my intentions.

"It's a good question, that's for sure. I'm here because I need to find out more about my father. Now, I know where I need to go to get real answers, but I can't go there yet. I need to feel my way around this town first; get a taste for it, figure out what it meant to me in the whole scheme of things. That doesn't make sense, but...I figure you have to go through the storm to get the rainbow."

Tamara nods. She knows this better than anyone, I think.

"As long as you have a plan, I guess. It just sucks to see you so down in the dumps. Hey, why don't we go to a movie tonight? Let's go see a nice romantic comedy or something. You deserve it."

I smile gratefully. I am such a lucky woman, really. There are so many people looking after me, even when I feel like I couldn't deserve it any less.

"Sounds good," I say. "There's actually a movie theater around here?"

I check my watch. It's almost 10:00. Back in Vegas, Grissom and I would be getting ready to go to work. Ah, Grissom. I miss my husband. It makes me sad that I have to do this--that I have to get my life together--so far away from him. But it's for both of us. I try to keep this in mind, but it's so hard.

"There's one in Petaluma. It's about 20 minutes away, but it's the closest one. They have some pretty late showings."

Before we go, I text Grissom since it's easier than hearing his voice, which always makes me want to take the first flight back to Vegas. That's not conducive to what I'm trying to accomplish here. I text, _going to a movie! Love you so much._ He answers a minute later, _have fun, honey. Playing with bugs. Love you more than you know._ I love my husband.

An hour later, Tamara and I find ourselves in a freezing-cold theater watching a random romantic comedy. I try to laugh at the appropriate places, making myself enjoy it. Tamara is trying to cheer me up, and I don't want to disappoint her. After all, she's being so gracious by letting me stay with her.

I excuse myself for a moment to go to the bathroom. Then I stand in line to get some popcorn for Tamara and I to share. I haven't had popcorn in a movie theater for what seems like forever. It has way more calories than I usually allow myself, but I feel like it's the perfect day to indulge. If not now, when?

While I stand in a short line for the popcorn, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I wonder for a second if it's Tamara, coming to indulge in some Junior Mints. But when I turn around, I see that it's none other than Alan Leighton, whom I was just thinking about a few days ago. It really is a small world, when you think about it.

"Sara? Is that really you?" He asks, grinning.

"Alan! Hi!" I say, trying to be as perky as possible. I don't need to infect near-strangers with my all-encompassing misery.

"What are you doing here? It's pretty far from San Francisco!"

Alan and I last talked when Robert and I were dating, and I realize he has no idea that I've left Robert, left San Francisco, left everything to be with Grissom. Well, this is going to take a while.

"Actually, it's pretty far from Vegas. I moved there a few years ago, after my divorce."

Alan frowns, then sees my wedding ring, and smiles. I laugh.

"It's a good thing. My husband is wonderful, he really is."

"That's great, Sara, really. You deserve wonderful things."

We smile at each other, and I am eternally grateful for his words. It's my turn in line for popcorn, and I get a medium bag for Tamara and me to share. And I get some Junior Mints, just for an added indulgence.

After Alan gets some bottled water, we walk over to a small table by the concession stand. I know I need to get back to Tamara, but I haven't seen Alan in a long time. He looks good. His once fiery red hair had darkened to a deep auburn over time. His green eyes have a story behind them, and there are interesting wrinkles settled into his face. He has a wedding ring on, which comforts me for some reason. Alan was my first love, and since he never broke my heart like many other people and situations have, I feel safe.

"So, Sara, tell me...have you talked to your mother recently?"

This is a rather blunt question, but I know he's just curious. We used to spend hours talking about Laura Sidle and the many ways I both hated and loved her.

"Yes, I talked to her a few days ago. I haven't seen her recently, but...I will. Soon. It's something I'm trying to gather my courage to do."

"Oh, that's fantastic. I think it'll be good for both of you!" He says. I shrug and look at him wearily, not really sure where he's going with this conversation.

"Oh," he said, seeing my face. "I'm sorry to be so nosy, but I have to tell you--I'm a psychiatrist. And actually, I owe it to you." Seeing my obvious confusion, he continued

"After all that time we spent talking about what happened to you, I realized that that's what I want to do with my life. I want to help people. I want to hear their stories and help them sort through the pain. And I owe it all to you."

I smile, happy that I've inspired someone to do something great with their lives.

"I'm sure you're a great psychiatrist," I say. "You were so good at listening to me and suggesting solutions to all my little foster-care problems. I'm sure you're very popular with your patients."

"I do get a lot of Christmas cards," he says, smiling.

I spot Tamara looking for me in the lobby, and I call her name. She comes over, and after some inner detective work, realizes it's Alan. She and my brother had just met at the tail end of my relationship with Alan, so I'm sure she had some recollection of this red-haired friend of mine.

"Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to make sure you didn't fall in a toilet or something," Tamara says ever so tactfully. "I think I remember this gentleman...Adam?"

"Alan," he says. "I'm sorry, I don't--"

"Tamara," she says. "I was friends with Sara's brother."

We all chit-chat for a few minutes until Tamara excuses herself to go back to the movie. I tell her I'll meet her after the movie. I am enjoying my conversation with Alan.

"Don't get in trouble," she whispers before she walks away. "That's the last thing you need."

I scoff, and she laughs. We both know there's no chance of me ever cheating on Gil in a million years.

Alan and I decide to take a walk around the theater. It is chilly November evening, and I zip up my jacket.

He tells me about his wife, who he met in med school. I briefly think about Avery. I know I need to call her; I owe her an explanation. Even with our rocky start, we've grown into very close friends and I know she's probably worried about me. Just someone else I've managed to disappoint.

Alan also talks about his 3 kids, and I imagine he's a great father. He's got that stern rules-follower, yet kind, gentle teacher vibe going on with him that always intrigued me. He has a thriving psychiatry practice back in San Francisco. He and his wife are visiting his mother in Petaluma. He had to get away from his overbearing mom for a few hours, so he came to the theater by himself while she and his wife talked about sewing patterns and home decorating.

And then it's my turn. I tell him about Gil, and my life in Vegas. He laughs when I tell him about Hank and his tendency to drool on everything we own. I tell him about the life of a CSI in Vegas, and how it involves more breast implants and glitter than a person can stand. When we finally come to a gap in the conversation, he takes my hand in a friendly gesture. I know I'm about to have to explain myself. And he doesn't disappoint.

"So, tell me why you're here. I know you hate this place, Sara. The Bay was never on your list of favorite destinations."

"I had some issues," I say hesitantly. "I needed to get away for a while. It's been difficult."

He nods, expecting this answer. This both annoys me and delights me, because even a person I haven't talked to in ages seems to understand me so easily.

"I see. Do you have a plan?"

"I do, actually," I say, annoyed that this is the second time tonight that I've had to defend my plan. "I haven't put it in motion yet, but I do. It involves getting to know more about my dad. I don't really remember the good things about him, and I want to. I want to remember more than the look on his face before he stopped breathing. I want to remember more than the young cop that blew chunks when he saw all the blood. I want more than that, and I can't go back to Vegas, to my husband, until I do."

Alan tightens his grip on my hand, and I'm grateful. It makes me feel stable. I need all the stability I can get.

"So does that mean you're going--does that mean you're going to confront--"

"Yes," I say simply. "I'm going to the Wild Horse Inn."

"When?"

"Soon."

"I think you should go tomorrow," he says, determined. "You can't keep putting it off. Confront her, face to face. And then you can finally start moving on."

"But I haven't--"

"I know you feel like there's some journey you have to take before you take this step, but it's not true. Do it. Go to the Inn, find her, and talk to her. I bet you'll find out a lot of things that you've never known about your dad."

"I'll consider it," I say, "But for now...let's talk about something else."

"Like what? How the 49ers are playing this year? They really suck, actually," he says, grinning slightly. We both chuckle, but the conversation is effectively over. We walk back to the theater, just in time for all the movies to let out. I spot Tamara, and mouth, "Just a minute." She nods and waits patiently.

"Thank you for talking me through this," I tell Alan. "It helped, really, it did."

He smiles and we share a nice, comfortable hug.

"You're doing the right thing for yourself, Sara. Just don't prolong the inevitable." He kisses my cheek, and then disappears into the crowd.

On the way home, I'm quiet. Tamara turns on the radio to some A.M. station and we listen as a smarmy host talks about house mortgages and financing. I zone out and think about what I know I have to do when I wake up in the morning. I have to find her, I have to talk to her, and I have to know more about my dad. Alan's right--I'm only prolonging the inevitable if I put it off any longer.

* * *

After a nice 9 hours of sleep, I wake up. I take a shower and brush my teeth. I drink some coffee with Tamara and eat a piece of toast. I put on my Harvard sweatshirt. I get on my bike and head to the place that's been my destination all along. After 10 minutes, I show up at the inn. I park my bike. I knock on the door, and wait for my dad's mistress to answer.

A moment later, she opens the door. "Welcome to the Wild Horse Inn! How long will you be--" And then she sees my face. And everything changes.


	7. The heart revealing intimacy

**A/N - It didn't take me months to update, yay! This is a pretty emotional chapter, and I am somewhat fond of it. I hope you are, too. Thanks as always for the feedback, and also thanks to GSFanatic, the most patient beta to ever beta.**

_...May she be granted beauty and yet not  
Beauty to make a stranger's eye distraught,  
Or hers before a looking-glass, for such,  
Being made beautiful overmuch,  
Consider beauty a sufficient end,  
Lose natural kindness and maybe  
The heart-revealing intimacy  
That chooses right, and never find a friend..._

**A Prayer for my Daughter, W.B. Yeats**

* * *

I stare into the eyes of Anne Rose, the woman that my father wanted to trade our whole family for so many years ago. It gives me some kind of brutal satisfaction to see that Anne has not aged well--she looks tired; beaten by age and time. I am not usually so vindictive, but this is one person who is the exception to the rule.

"Sara...Sidle?" Anne says, a mixture of disbelief and heartbreak in her voice. "What--why--"

"It's me," I say. "How did you remember?"

"I've seen so many pictures of you. I still have a photo album with your pictures that Jimmy--that you father gave to me. I look at it often, actually."

"How sad for you," I say, not making any effort to hide my bitterness.

We size each other up. I am the daughter of the woman my father married. She is the woman who took my father away. I am the daughter that my father always came back to after he left her. And she is the reason why he always left. It's a tricky combination of attributes, and I know we both have pain in our hearts that will never go away. We are scarred in our own separate ways. It was only a matter of time before our paths crossed.

I realize that I'm not only at her place of business, but I'm also in her home. There's no need to be rude. A lot of years have passed. I can at least be civil.

"I'm...sorry. I didn't come here to insult you," I say, looking at the ground.

"Why did you come here? It's been a long time, Sara. As you know."

"I know it has, and I do have a reason," I quickly say. "I've been going through some stuff lately, and I need to remember things about him--the good things. I don't remember a lot of good things. And I came back, and I'm here to talk to you because...well, it was something I had to do."

She didn't say anything, which was making everything way more awkward than I would have liked.

"So do you think we can talk? I have questions. Actually, a lot of questions. I'll understand if you don't want to answer them, but--"

"Of course," she said finally. "I understand. We really should talk. I'm sorry it's taken so long for that to happen. Please, come in."

I enter the Wild Horse Inn, which my parents ran until my dad died. Just coming through the door and seeing the old place was enough to send a thousand memories scattering through my soul. Most of the furniture had been replaced, of course, and the floors were now hardwood instead of carpeted. I think this may have been because of the blood, but I'm not so sure.

Along with owning and operating the inn, we also lived in it in the later years when it wasn't doing so well and we had to sell the house. That's when everything got a lot worse for my mom. Needless to say, most of the memories were not pleasant.

Anne sees me looking at the place not so fondly, and patiently asks, "A lot of memories here, huh?"

I nod, trying to keep a stray tear from betraying me and slipping out of my eye.

"Okay, well, let's sit down. Do you want some tea or anything?"

"Tea would be great, thank you." I follow her through the inn, noting the changes she's made. She's done a good job; the inn looks homier than it ever did before.

Once we get to the kitchen, though, I stop short. I can't make myself go through the door. It's like there's an invisible barrier separating me from going into this room. There's a perfectly logical reason for this--it's where my mom stabbed my dad. Repeatedly. In front of me and my brother.

Anne notices my hesitation and says, "Oh...well. You can go ahead and sit down at the dining room table. I'll be there in a moment."

I am grateful that she doesn't comment on my reluctance to go in the kitchen, but I'm also aware that as soon as we sit down together, we're going to be talking about a lot of difficult things. I tell myself that it's okay; that I made this journey to come to this point, and if I don't do it now, I may never get back home to Grissom. I picture him in my mind. I close my eyes while I hear Anne pattering around in the kitchen, and I visualize Grissom at home with Hank. This will help me get through the conversation. I am determined.

Anne sits across from me at the table a few minutes later, handing me my tea. I thank her and take a sip. She also takes a sip of her tea. We are delaying the inevitable. The elephant in the room is getting bigger. Someone needs to say something.

"Okay, well...how about this--you tell me what you know about me and your father and I'll tell you the rest," she says.

"Fair enough," I say, thankful that she's going to let me get to the bottom of this after all. "Let's see. You met as freshmen in high school. You fell in love and planned to get married, but your parents didn't approve of him because he wasn't Jewish. You still dated seriously, planning to elope after you turned 18, but he met my mom at a party and had a one night stand with her. She got pregnant from that one night and he decided to 'do the right thing' and marry her. Now, here's my favorite part--you guys still dated the entire time they were married, even after my brother was born, and even after I was born 5 years later. And 15 years after he married my mother, he was going to leave her to marry you, but--"

"Oh, let me take it from there," she says sourly. I then regret my choice of words right away, but I can't help it. There are just so many memories I can't leave behind, and I've spent so many years blaming her for all of it.

"He was finally going to leave Laura and come back to me, but instead, she murdered him in the kitchen and now none of us have anything." Her face does not hide the still evident sorrow that she must still carry around with her on a daily basis. The empathy I feel for her surprises me.

"And there's 2 sides to every story and neither of us could know what the other went through, so..." I say sadly.

Her face softens and she nods.

"That's true. I know Jimmy was not the nicest of people in the end. I know Laura got the brunt of his anger. And believe me; I was angry with him for that, all the time. Whenever I heard another rumor that he sent her or you kids to the hospital, I'd end it with him yet again. But it never lasted. Sara, what can I say? He was my first love, my only love."

Obviously I think of Gil when she says this, and I realize things are not always black and white. Sometimes, life takes a different turn and complicates everything. I was going to spend the rest of my life with Robert, I really was, but I could never stop thinking about the man I met at the Forensic Academy Conference. I'm sure my dad tried to stay with my mom, at least for a while, but Anne was his one true love. I'm always embarrassed to admit that I believe in fate--I'm a scientist, after all. But there are so many things in my life that I have to chalk up to fate because there's no other explanation. And I realize that while Anne and I have walked down different paths, we're probably more alike than we think.

"I know how that is," I say. "And I'm sorry, again, for speaking out of turn. It's just that...I haven't gotten over it. I lost my dad. A few years ago I lost my brother. A few months ago I lost my baby. And there's so much loss, and I have to blame someone for it...well, anyway, I'm sorry."

"I didn't know about your brother, Sara," she says, her tired face radiating unexpected warmth. "I'm so sorry. And your baby, too, that has to be the worst."

"It was," I say. "It is."

"I lost Paige, too," she says. I look up at her, surprised and heartbroken for her.

"What? When?"

"A few years ago, to breast cancer. She was 30 years old. Can you imagine?"

Paige was my father's daughter. I saw her around sometimes when I still lived in the Bay. She was 8 years younger than me and didn't know who I was, but I knew who she was. It took all my strength not to say anything to her, but she was just a little girl. She didn't need to know who her father was yet. She'd had plenty of time to figure that out on her own.

"I am so sorry, Anne," I say. "It seems like we've both lost a lot in our lives."

She nods. Neither of us is crying. There are no more tears left.

"Did my dad...did he ever..."

"A few times," she admitted. "I ended up in the hospital once or twice. But never like...your mom and you kids. He was very resentful of his life, and he took it out on all of us. He never meant to--I'm sorry, Sara, I know you couldn't possibly want to hear this--but he never meant to have children with Laura. We had a lot of plans together, and that one mistake ruined everything he wanted. When you kids were old enough, he was going to leave. I don't know exactly how it all happened, but he told me he was leaving Laura. And I figured...well, I thought--"

"It was," I say. "He told her that night he was leaving. I heard the whole thing. She cried and begged and pleaded even though I thought she'd be relieved. He slapped her when she became hysterical and started crying and wouldn't stop. And that was just the last straw. She went crazy, grabbed the knife, and it was all over. But if it's any comfort to you, yes, he was going to leave her--us--to be with you."

I can't tell if this is any comfort to her. She doesn't show any signs of, well, anything on her weathered face. I don't know why I expected something, but I did.

"You know, Sara, your father was very proud of you."

"No, he wasn't. Please don't tell me that, because it's bullshit. He called me names. He tried to get me to stop doing so much homework; to stop reading so much. He never--"

"Sara, please. He was proud of you. He didn't show it in the right way, but he was. He told me all the time how you were going to be a doctor or a lawyer."

"I'm a criminalist," I say. "I'm a scientist."

"Oh, he would have loved that. He didn't have any aptitude for any of that stuff," she says, almost fondly. "He was an artist. Did you know that? Our plans included going to an artist's colony in Austin. That was basically his dream."

"I had no idea," I say honestly. "I really didn't. He never said anything."

"He was embarrassed. I think once he settled down with Laura, he wanted to move on from that part of his life. It's also part of the reason why he was so angry all the time, because he no longer had an outlet for his frustrations."

I _know_ that Anne is not saying that she understood my father's violent tendencies. I know she's not saying that his physical and mental abuse was our fault. I know she's not saying these things, but still, what she is saying is rubbing me the wrong way. But I decide to do something I don't do very often, and I bite my tongue. I will not confront her. She's had enough pain in her life, as much as I've had, and this does not need to happen.

She can apparently tell that I'm not sure what to say next, so she breaks the silence.

"Do you have someone, Sara? Are you in love?"

"Yes. Yes, his name is Gil. He's my second husband, actually. But he's the love of my life."

She smiles sadly. "I hope you realize how lucky you are."

"I do, every day," I say. I wish he was here, or that I was back at home with him. I only feel like a whole person when he's around. I quickly remind myself that this is the reason why I have to be here right now and not with him. I decide a subject change is necessary, or I really will start crying.

"I can barely step foot in this inn without wanting to run as far as I can. But you own this place. You're in the kitchen every day. How do you do it? I can't even imagine."

She smiles sadly.

"It's part of the healing process, I guess. Your father was my one true love, and I haven't found anyone else to replace him. This inn is all I have, and I feel his spirit in the air every now and then. If I leave here, if I move on with my life...then I'm scared I won't feel the spirit anymore. I know how sad that is, but it's okay. I get by. The inn does pretty well and I have my own little hobbies and such."

My heart aches for this woman; the woman I've felt only bitterness towards for more than half my life. And there's the empathy again, because I know deep down if I lost Gil Grissom, I would feel the same way.

We talk for a little longer about my father, my mother, Gil. I tell her about Vegas. She tells me about the strange guests that frequent the inn.

When the conversation comes to a lull, I look at my watch and realize I've been talking to Anne for almost 3 hours. She sees me looking at my watch and looks up at the clock mounted on the wall. We both realize that maybe it's time to wrap this up.

"Well...thank you, Anne. I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me. I was just wondering, is there anything you kept that belonged to him? Or anything he drew, painted, wrote? Anything that was creative at all that is still around today? He never shared those kinds of things with any of us, and I was curious..."

Anne nodded warmly. "You can come back any time you want and I'll show you a lot of things. I have letters, pictures, drawings...I kept everything. Oh, and the picture on the wall above the fireplace? He painted that."

We walked to the fireplace and I stared at the picture that I knew so well. My dad painted that? He painted the picture I used to stare at for hours when I was a kid, trying to figure out what was happening inside of it? The picture was meant to be abstract, but in it, you could barely make out the figure of a little girl. She was surrounded by sweeping circles painted black and blue, and it was all set in the middle of a green and brown forest. It was the most confusing picture ever, yet I was so intrigued by it as a child. It broke my heart to know he painted it and I never knew.

"Wow," I say. "I didn't know."

"Yeah, he tried to keep his artist thing to himself," she says. And quietly, "and to me."

We finally part ways and I tell her I'll be back in a few days to look at what he left behind. I don't feel relieved, really. I don't feel like a weight has been lifted. But I do feel like I have more insight into who my father was and why, maybe, he was so angry all the time. I'll never understand why he took it out on us the way he did, but I do realize that underneath the violence and anger and pain, there was a man who's life didn't turn out the way he planned. And I understood that a lot more than I gave him credit for, that was for sure.


	8. To hope may be forgiven

**A/N - Thanks as always for the feedback and to the magical beta powers of GSFanatic.  
The bit about the dragons may have been influenced by watching Reign of Fire. Not by choice, I might add.**

_Anna, thy charms my bosom fire,  
And waste my soul with care;  
But ah! how bootless to admire,  
When fated to despair!_

Yet in thy presence, lovely Fair,  
To hope may be forgiven;  
For sure 'twere impious to despair  
So much in sight of heaven. 

**Anna, Thy Charms - Robert Burns**

* * *

I am used to having vivid dreams. I've always had dreams that were right on the verge of a nightmare, but never quite crossed the threshold. My favorite visual in my dreams have always been dragons, which used to happen quite frequently, actually. Nobody I know ever dreams about them. This gives me a strange sort of satisfaction. I have come to realize that dreaming about dragons is a spiritual thing, and it gives me peace when I need it the most.

But when I became a CSI, my dreams were few and far between. It's hard to dream when you wake up every hour, staring at the clock beside the bed, both dreading and needing it to be time to go to work again--dreading and needing to find the next victim that needed to be spoken for and cared about. I found it hard to come to terms with my lack of dreams. I got used to it, but I've always missed the dragons.

After my confrontation with Anne, I went back to Tamara's and got in bed, fully clothed, not even taking the time to brush my teeth or anything. I was just so tired. I had the most amazing dreams. They were colorful and peaceful and reassuring. My dragons breathed fire, flew into the heavens, winked at me with their ferocious eyes. I know to most people it might seem odd that the appearance of dragons would put me so at ease. But when I wake up, I feel better than I have in a very, very long time.

I don't feel good enough to go to my dad's grave. Not yet. And I definitely don't feel like talking to my mother, either. Not even dragons can make me feel good enough for that. It will happen and probably soon. But I can't face either of my parents yet. There are things I need to do; paths that I need to discover before I can.

Again, I know what my father would say to that. I know he'd shake his head and say some kind of mildly degrading remark about how I need to get over it and stop with all the psycho babble. I get that, and I appreciate it. I don't want to sink into some kind of 'woe is me, look what happened when I was a child!' state of mind, but this is where I am right now, and if I don't do anything about it, I may never get back to my beginning and my end, Grissom. He is where I want to be, but I can't get back there if I don't do this for myself. It's a constant journey, and I don't know when it will end.

* * *

The next morning, I wake up refreshed. I wouldn't say I'm happy, exactly--more like relieved. I'm relieved that my dragon dreams have returned. I almost feel like myself again. But I know that's not enough. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if I'll recognize when it _is_ enough. But I'm not there yet. I've only been back in the Bay for a little over a week. That's not enough time, and I hope everyone understands. It's beginning to seem like nobody does.

I go over to Anne's after Tamara and I share some pancakes. She raises an eyebrow when I tell her where I'm going, but she doesn't say what she's really thinking. This is quite a different side of Tamara than normal, because when she and my brother were dating, she was the loudest, most outspoken woman I'd ever met. We even got into fist fights sometimes over what came out of her mouth. I find myself missing that side of her a little. While I know I have to do what I have to do, I wouldn't mind having a voice of reason. I don't tell her this, though. That would be too easy.

I ride my borrowed bike to Anne's house and knock on her door. She answers quickly, an uncomfortable smile on her pale face. Is this awkward? Well, yeah. It is, but I am determined to fight through it so I can get to the greater good--that is, find more information on my dad.

"Hi, Sara. I brought down some boxes from the attic," Anne says, pointing to a stack of boxes in the dining room. "You can go through them at your leisure. Do you want any tea or anything?"

"Yes, please," I say eagerly. "You don't mind me looking through all this stuff?"

Anne looks conflicted, but says, "No, I understand how you feel. You want to know what I know. Just...I'll be around, so if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask. But if you don't mind, I'm not going to look through these boxes with you. I have to be in a certain kind of mood, or otherwise..."

I nod, understanding completely. She smiles and heads to the kitchen to make the tea. I walk slowly towards the boxes, not sure what I'm going to find, and not sure how I'm going to react when I find it.

The first box has about 10 notebooks in it, and as soon as I open it, I smell him--I actually smell the scent of my father. There's no possible way a scent could last that long, or that I should even remember what he smelled like. But there it is. I breathe it in, and try to keep myself from crying. It's going to be a long day, and I don't need to fall apart now.

The notebooks were full of poetry. I figured my dad must have been a teenager when he wrote them. Most of the poems were simple little things; the reflections of young love.

_As the leaves fall from the trees  
As I watch the birds and the bees  
I see you standing from afar  
and I want to know who you are  
Your hair, as dark as honey  
Your face, so bright and sunny..._

But the further I get into these notebooks, the deeper the poetry would get. I can see some stirrings of the darker side of my father. It's disturbing, to say the least.

_Craving you  
nothing else  
taking you to another level  
unseen by anyone else  
you, nobody else  
taking you away  
and nothing else_

Anne brings me the tea and notices the poem I'm reading.

"Yeah, that one scared me, too," she says, smiling a little. "But at the time, he was mostly harmless."

"You didn't think these poems were a little weird?"

Anne shakes her head.

"No. Like I said, Sara, I was in love with the man. I loved opening my locker and finding another poem he slipped in there before class. His poetry was like...sex to me. I craved him just as much as he craved me."

This makes me feel something I wasn't prepared for--sadness. I'm not sad for me and my mother, but for my dad. He never envisioned the life he ended up with, not when he was in high school and writing poetry about his first love. Sometimes, life really wasn't fair.

I drink the tea and Anne goes back in the kitchen to prepare lunch for the guests staying at the inn. She directs me to an available room, and I take a few boxes in there with me.

The empty room has a four poster bed sheathed in a white down comforter. I lay down on it and read more of the notebooks. Some of the pages have doodles that my dad drew, probably when he was thinking of the next poem to write. He apparently loved to draw snakes and eyeballs and strange fish-like objects. He also liked to draw...dragons. There were pages and pages of dragons. I wonder if maybe I saw a drawing of his when I was younger, which led to my inevitable dreams about them.

For hours, I look through notebooks, loose pieces of paper, sketch books...I come across a stack of Polaroid pictures that I study carefully. Most of them are of Anne by herself. She was beautiful as a carefree teenager in love. She had long, flowing hair and a peaceful look in her eye. Of course, as the years go on, her hair gets shorter and her eyes reflect different things--worry, anger, a little bit of fear. It's a fascinating study of the human condition, I think. But I always was one to over think these things. I once told Grissom that I was always over-talking around him, too. This should tell me something, but I don't know what.

There are dates on everything. The earliest date I see is October of 1965. The last date is November of 1982, a month before my dad died. It hurts to know he was still writing her poetry even after he married my mom, after my brother and I were born, but it doesn't surprise me. Apparently, Anne was the love of my father's life, and the rest of us were just background characters.

* * *

I want to say that this is enough for me. I want to say that after I look at all these notebooks and papers and pictures that I'm okay--that this is all I need to put the pieces of the puzzle together. But it's not. Because when I'm done looking at everything, I go back to Tamara's and cry. And the next day, and the one after that, and the next one, I go back to Anne's and look at more of the boxes. I keep going back, searching for something or anything, even though I don't know what exactly. And every day, when I'm done, I come home and cry until there's nothing left.

Anne always answers the door when I come looking for something else. Sometimes we talk for hours; sometimes we just nod at each other and don't speak a word. I find love letters he wrote to her when he was with my mother. I find a picture he drew of him and Anne on a mountain, flames rising from the ashes of a world that they burned to the ground. It was dated the day after I was born. Did he really hate us that much? Did he ever want anything to do with me and my brother? With my mother?

Sometimes I'd find a poem that mentioned me and my brother. Sometimes I would see that he didn't always hate us.

_She's tiny, head full of brown hair  
his eyes look like mine  
it's a life I never wanted  
but that doesn't mean they don't shine  
someday it'll be you and me  
we'll set the world on fire  
but until then, I look in their eyes  
and sometimes it inspires..._

I always liked finding these needles in the haystack, as rare as they were.

After I ran out of boxes, I started riding my bike to other places in town. I tracked down some of my dad's old poker buddies and asked them questions. I went to his old high school and looked at his yearbooks. Still, I didn't feel any closer to feeling like I knew who he was. I could never find the answer as to why he hurt us so badly. Even if we weren't the life he set out to live, none of us deserved what he did to us. And I just wanted to know why.

This mission lasted nearly a month and a half. Grissom came to see me after the first couple of weeks. It was wonderful to see my husband at first. We made love, we talked about what was happening at the lab, he told me stories about how Hank kept chasing down the mailman. But after a day or two, I was anxious to get back to my mission. Gil was concerned.

"Sara, what are you doing? I mean, really, what is it you're trying to accomplish here?"

"I want to know my dad," I say simply. "Haven't we talked about this?"

"Of course we have, but you've been here for almost 2 months. Haven't you found what you've been looking for yet?"

I sigh, exasperated. Why didn't he understand?

"No. Obviously I haven't, or I wouldn't still be here, Gil."

He nods, but I can tell this answer didn't satisfy him. I can tell there was something else on his mind.

"What is it? Just say what you're thinking."

"I'm worried, Sara," he says carefully. "I'm worried you're trying to forget about Danny by overloading yourself with information about your father."

I try to protest. I try to say this is ridiculous, but nothing comes out.

"I want you to come home. We miss you. Me and Hank miss you, the lab misses you...we all miss you, and we need you to come back."

He looks worried. He looks sad. I wish I could do something about it, but I have to worry about myself right now.

"It's not about Danny. It's about me finding a connection before we try to have another baby. I have to find my past before I settle for my future. I...I don't know, Gil. I don't know what else to say."

He held me and wiped away my tears. It seemed like he was always wiping away my tears. It would be nice if he could see me smile again. If nothing else, that is what I want for my future.

I spend another month searching the small town of Tomales Bay. I look for him in the ocean. I look for him in the desert. I look for my father in the trees. I find pieces of him everywhere, but I still can't find what I'm looking for anywhere. Meanwhile, everyone is concerned about me. Avery calls me every night and tries her hardest to get me to come home. Avery is a good friend, but she has no idea what I've been through in my life. She has a beautiful, thriving daughter and an ex-husband who spent most of his life making sure she had everything she wanted.

The person who manages to tell me what I need to hear is Charlotte. She came to visit a few days before New Years, surprising the shit out of me when I woke up in the morning, ready to spend another day on my bike. Before I leave the house, I braid my hair and put it in pigtails. I eat some cereal, brush my teeth and step outside to start digging for more clues. And I run straight into Charlotte Grissom.

"Charlotte! What in the hell are you doing here?!" I say, both happy and surprised that she's here. I realize that I've missed my stepdaughter. I've missed her a lot. She is like a breath of fresh air in a world full of smog. Well, most of the time. The rest of the time, she's a real pain in the ass.

"My mom and dad are talking about how you've gone nuts. Don't look at me like that; I'm sure you know as well as everyone else that there's definitely something wrong with you right now."

I can't think of anything to say to that, really.

"Sit down with me, okay, Sara?" We sit down on the steps in front of the house. She looks good, like a happy 20-something with her whole life in front of her. I realize that I was her age when I met Grissom for the first time. How I long for those days again...

"Sara? Where are you? Snap out of it!" I stare at Charlotte, wondering where this girl gets her nerve.

"Charlotte, really, I don't need to be talked to like I'm a child, okay?"

She shakes her head. "I think you do. Nobody else talks to you like this because they're afraid they're going to hurt your feelings. But Sara, I'm a lawyer and I minored in psychology in college. That means that I don't care if I hurt your feelings."

I chuckle. Charlotte is always good for comic relief.

"Now, look. My dad told me what you're doing here."

"Oh, he did, did he?" I wasn't that angry. Charlotte does have a way of getting information from people.

"Yes. Something about your father. And don't get me wrong, I understand the need to come to peace with your past, I really do. But you can't let this consume you, Sara. You have to let it go at some point. You have to say to yourself, 'it happened, but now it's over.' You have to move on, and you have to do it soon."

"Why do I have to do it soon?" I ask more out of mere curiosity than anything else.

"Because have you seen this godforsaken town? It's tiny, it smells, and it doesn't even have a bookstore. You had a terrible childhood here. You're surrounded by unpleasant memories. You're riding a bike around the town, and there's no decent place to get Mexican food. Sara, you have to get out of here! You have to come back to my dad. He misses you so much, it's ridiculous."

"It's not that easy, Char. I can't just--"

"Yes, you can just!" She looks mad. I find her honesty refreshing. Her passion for my situation is almost exhausting, but intriguing nonetheless. "You can. Look, I know you think that I've had it easy and everything was handed to me on a silver platter. For the most part, this is true. I _have_ had an easy life. But what nobody knows, and I mean nobody, is that I lost a baby, too."

I gasp and look at her closely. Her eyes are sad. I reach out and take her hand. She squeezes mine.

"I was young...18 years old. I was nervous about telling my parents, and I thought seriously about abortion. The guy I was dating at the time was seriously a douchebag, and a big one. We had a big fight about the baby, and the next day I miscarried. No one could tell me why. And I wake up every single day and wonder about what my baby could have been. My baby would be 10 years old right now. I could have a child in fifth grade, and instead I have nothing but the memory of what could have been."

"So...what helped you get through it?" I ask, my heart breaking for her.

"By knowing that everything happens for a reason. Sara, you have told me that you believe in fate. I do, too. Always have. I still don't know why I lost my baby, but maybe it was because I wasn't ready. Maybe it was because the guy I was with wouldn't have been a good father and the universe was protecting the baby from having to live with that. Maybe I haven't come across the reason yet. But I strongly believe, and this is what gets me through the tough days, that it happened for a reason."

I think about this. It makes sense to me. Some of the pieces of the puzzle are coming together.

"Maybe the things that have happened in your life were meant to bring you to a crossroads, like where you are right now. Maybe you're supposed to do something about it so you can help other people in your same situation. Did you ever think about that?"

"I'm thinking about it now," I say seriously.

She smiles.

"Good. Then my work here is done."

"Not so quick, Char. Are you telling me that losing Danny, losing my father...it ALL happens for a reason? Because Charlotte, I have a hard time understanding why I had to lose both of them."

"I have no doubt that you know the answer to that, Sara," she says. "You've always known. You just have to let yourself KNOW that you know. You know?"

"Not even a little bit," I say. But I'm smiling anyway.

She gives me a kiss on the cheek, gets up, wipes some dirt of her butt and walks back to her rental car.

"That's it?" I say anxiously. "That's all you came to say?"

"That's all," Charlotte says. "I can see that you understand. I have other people to inspire now."

"Love you, Charlotte," I say.

"Love you, Sara," she says. And then she's gone.

* * *

Amazingly enough, even though what Charlotte said wasn't complicated, it resonated with me. It allowed me to think that the closure I was seeking from Tomales Bay was not really about my dad. It was about me and what I wanted from my life. Strangely enough, this is the thought that ultimately gave me the closure I felt I needed.

Later that day, after I process my strange and complicated thoughts, I go to the graveyard. I know exactly where my father is buried, even if I haven't been to the cemetery since the day of the funeral. I sit by his grave, and I start talking. I tell him about Anne, and how she misses him more than anything. I tell him about my life with Grissom, and how happy he makes me. I talk to my dad about the poetry he wrote, and how much I like most of what I read. I also tell him about my mom, and how I'm finally ready to get to know her again. And then I tell him about my new plan; the plan that Charlotte made me think about. Just talking about it and putting it out in the universe makes me absolutely sure it's the right thing to do. I felt like having a plan was enough to give me that kick in the butt I needed so badly.

When I'm finished talking, and it takes a long time for me to get to that point, I put my head in my hands and cry. But these aren't sad tears. They are tears of relief. I feel like I'm ready to give up this battle of getting to know my father. I'm ready to take on the next chapter of my life. I tell him this when I'm finished crying.

"I'm ready, Dad. I'm ready to leave. I know so much more about you now. I know from the pictures that we have the same eyes. Anne told me that you liked punk music when it was just starting out. Did you know that the first concert I went to was The Ramones? Maybe we could have gone together, if it were a different world. But anyway, I want you to know that while I can't forgive you for what you did to our family, I can let go of the pain you ultimately caused us. I know your life was hard and you did the best you could. I hope that wherever you are, you're getting a second chance. Because I'm getting mine, and it's better than I ever thought it could be."

The sky didn't immediately open and pour rain from the heavens. There was no mysterious thunder. No butterflies fluttered across the grass. I didn't see any feathers drift from the sky. But that night, when I went to sleep, I dreamed about dragons.


	9. Whose whisper would have given

**A/N - I have no explanation as for why I haven't updated this in so long. I just offer it to you and hope that you will read it. A supreme thank you goes to GSFanatic, who never gave up on this story of ours that she helped me create.**

_...Hope, whose whisper would have given  
Balm to all my frenzied pain,  
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,  
Went, and ne'er returned again!  
- Emily Bronte - _

* * *

I give myself one day. One day to sort through everything I've learned. One day to come to peace with the past. One day to get used to the idea of what I need to do in the future. During this day, Tamara and I ride our bikes through the Bay, silently and happily. There's something different about my aura, and I know she notices and wants to comment. But there are no questions, just small talk about the weather and what we should have for lunch. We eat seafood and enjoy a beer or two, laugh about the past, ignore any unpleasant thoughts. I am ready to put the unpleasant thoughts behind me. There was a corner in my life, and I have turned it.

When it starts getting dark, we head back home. We ride slowly, taking in the sights and enjoying the beauty of the evening. It almost--almost--makes me want to stick around for a few more weeks. But Tomales Bay is not where I should be. Tamara knows it, Anne knows it, Grissom knows it, and even I know it now. There is one more person who knew it from the start. I'm almost ready to face her.

"I'm going to make some spaghetti for Jordan, do you want some?" Tamara asks when we finally make it back.

"No, thanks. I'm still full." She nods, and I head back to my room. Smith, Tamara's Great Dane, follows me. I pet him while I contemplate the day ahead of me. Smith is big and drooly and reminds me of Hank. A smile inches its way across my face as I think about going home to that big, stupid dog of mine. And to his owner.

The urge to call Gil is all-encompassing and intense. I can almost hear his voice now. His laugh would be like the best kind of music to my ears. But I am giving myself this day. I will talk to him tomorrow, after having the clarity of sleep. Before I go out into the universe and make it my own again, I need this night to myself. Tamara senses I need this time to work some things out. Tamara and I seem to have a connection like this; she always seems to know when I need space and when I don't. When I leave here, I will be leaving a true friend. And I don't have a lot of those.

After performing all nightly bedtime rituals, I peel back the ladybug comforter and turn off the lamp beside the bed. Smith hops in bed with me. He is huge and takes up half the bed, but I welcome the company this evening. I close my eyes and let the wave of emotion that I've been working up to all day pass over me.

I think about Danny. Grissom and I would have cherished raising our little boy together. Grissom could have taught him about bugs and baseball. I could teach him physics and when he was old enough, introduce him to punk music of the seventies. He would have been such a smart boy, but never got the chance.

I think about my father, and Grissom, and Charlotte, and Tamara, and even Catherine. Oh, I wish I could call Catherine and apologize to her. I wish I could bring her flowers and sit down with her at a coffee shop and smell her little girl's hair and play with her little toes. Soon enough I'll get to see them both again. I'll get to see everybody again. I'm ready. Well, I'm almost ready.

A few tears are shed, but I feel better than I have in months, possibly even years. I'm doing the right thing for myself, and that's important. Sometimes I overlook that. Sometimes I go out of my way to sabotage my happiness because it's what I've always done. I can change that. I may be older and it may be hard to teach an old dog new tricks, but I can still change. And I'm going to, because I have to. More than that, I want to.

Finally, I close my eyes and let the peacefulness roll over me. I don't even mind that Smith is taking up most of the bed now and has the worst breath of any dog I've ever met. When I wake up, I will handle what I've been putting off, and then I'll have the comfort of moving on with my life.

* * *

Sleep comes easily and I don't remember my dreams when I wake up. Smith is literally on top of me. I gently move him aside and gingerly get out of bed. From the kitchen, I can smell Tamara frying bacon and brewing coffee. The bacon doesn't appeal to me, but the coffee is calling my name. I have one phone call to make first.

I reach into my purse and get my cell phone out. I stare at it for a minute, lost in my own thoughts again. Shaking it off, I dial the number I know so well. Gil picks up on the first ring.

"Hi, honey," he says, clearly happy that I've finally called him. This makes me feel unbearably homesick. Not the kind of homesick I felt in foster care so many years ago, but homesick nonetheless. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything is good," I say. "I'm coming home soon. There's just one more thing I need to do."

"Is it your mother?" He asks hesitantly.

"Yes, it is," I say. "I need to talk to her before I come home. But I want to come home, Gil. I miss you so much. You have always been my ultimate destination, and I hope you know that."

He was silent for a moment. I love how my husband doesn't talk just to talk. He thinks about things; ponders them before speaking. Of course, sometimes this is the most frustrating thing about him, but this morning, it appeals to my heart.

"I don't always know that, Sara. This has been hard on all of us. I've had to mourn Danny, too, and I've had to do it without you. I never know if you're going to decide not to come home at all. I'm constantly worrying about you. On the flip side, I know this is something you've had to do. Your father is like a myth in your mind now, and you've had to come to terms with that. I'm glad you're coming home, and I hope you found some peace."

He always was blunt like that. I love that about him.

"I'll talk to you about it soon," I say. "Really soon, I promise. I'll make it up to you."

"What will you make up to me?" he asks, a slight hint of flirtation in his voice.

"All the lost time," I say. "It will involve lots of enchiladas, and sex. Maybe even both at the same time."

Gil laughs. I haven't heard his laugh in so long. It resonates in my soul.

"Okay, honey. I'll see you soon. Hank says hi."

"Don't tell him that I slept with Smith last night. He'd be very angry."

"I wouldn't dare tell him that. It would break his heart."

I smile and say, "I love you. I'll see you soon."

"Love you, too. Hurry back to us. We miss you."

We hang up. I need to make one more phone call, but it has waited years. and can probably wait a few more minutes. I'm going to need caffeine first.

After I've made myself presentable, I go to the kitchen and sit down with Tamara, who is enjoying her coffee and reading the paper. She smiles and greets me as I sit down.

"I made some bacon for Jordan, who is still asleep, of course. But I also made some pancakes and eggs, would you like some?"

I'm starving after declining the spaghetti last night, so I nod and say, "Yes, please!"

The pancakes are amazing. The coffee is even better. I'm going to miss this house and the people who live in it.

"So you're probably taking off soon," Tamara says, not looking at me. "Right?"

It doesn't escape me that the people I love know me so well. Tamara could have been wrong and I could have mistaken her; I could have believed she was kicking me out instead of asking what my plans were. But I know that everything about me is radiating that it's time to go. And Tamara isn't the kind of woman to let that slip by.

"How did you know?" I ask, my voice softer than usual.

"It looks like a huge weight has been lifted off of your heart," she says. "If you could have seen yourself when you first got to my door, and to see yourself now...you'd know what I know. And that is, whatever you came here to do, you did it. You can move on now. Maybe I'm wrong, but that's what it seems like to me."

"Well, yes. That is completely accurate. Thank you for noticing. There's no way I'll ever be able to thank you for everything you've done. I'm so grateful for your hospitality. I couldn't have done it without you."

"We've all been there, Sara. We've all felt disconnected from our lives at some point. I'm glad I could be here when it happened to you."

I nod, so thankful for Tamara and everything she stands for and is.

We talk more about my plans for the day. At some point, Smith comes walking wearily out of my room, looking hung over. Tamara laughs.

"He's going to be depressed when you leave," she says. "I'm going to have to put him on doggie Prozac."

"I'm gonna miss him too," I say, scratching his ears. "But I will be glad to see Hank."

I promise Tamara I'll send her pictures of my dumb dog one day. I help her clean the dishes, and then I pack my bags. I catch myself humming "Home Sweet Home" by Mötley Crüe; a song popular in the days following my sudden placement into foster care. I remember listening to the song over and over in my darkest days, needing something to anchor me when nothing else could. The song is about coming home, which wasn't exactly something I could identify with, but the sentiment was one I needed in my heart.

I take my humming as a sign of what to do next. It isn't because I am afraid--not anymore--but something is still holding me back. Whatever it was, I am ready to face it, because it probably won't ever go away.

So I grab my cell phone and walk outside to Tamara's patio. She and Jordan love to garden, and she has all kinds of different vegetables and flowers growing in the somewhat spacious backyard. It's a serene background to the phone call I have to make.

As I had a feeling she would, my mother answers on the first ring.

"Sara? Is everything okay?"

I can't help but laugh. Not that I know what a real mother sounds like, exactly, but she sounds just like every worried mother on every sitcom I've ever seen. I'm not sure what to do with that sentiment at this point in my life, but I go with it.

"Mom, I'm okay. But I wanted--"

"Are you still in Tomales Bay? I can't believe you went back there in the first place!"

"Yes, I'm still here, but I'm ready to go. I'm going to San Francisco tonight and I'm getting a flight to Georgia for tomorrow. That is, if it's okay with you."

Silence. More silence than I thought there'd be. For a moment, I start to worry. But then she finally answers me.

"Of course it's okay with me, Sara. You don't know how long I've been waiting for you to tell me that. You're welcome here any time. Tell me this, though...have you seen Anne?"

"Yes," I say cautiously. This won't end well.

"Was she--did she tell you anything that helped?"

"Yes and no. In a way she helped more than anyone possibly could, but I also think what I'm looking for, she couldn't offer me. She's very nice, though; she told me a lot of stories I've never heard before."

My mother was silent again. It made me think back to the early days of my father's abuse, when she refused to talk back to him when he was yelling at her. Eventually it escalated into her screaming as loud as he did, but sometimes her silence was devastating to me.

"I have an idea. And if you're not okay with it, then I won't do it."

_Oh, shit,_ I think. What is she up to now?

"Just tell me, Mom."

"You stay put for tonight. I'll come in tomorrow. You can take me to Anne's. There's some things we need to talk about. And then you and I can talk, for as long as you want. I just think, as long as you're confronting your past, I may as well try it for myself."

While I think it's possibly the most ridiculous plan anyone has ever thought of, I can't deprive my mother of the same thing I'm trying to get for myself. So I suck it up, take a deep breath, and say, "That...sounds like a good idea. I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Yes, you will. I'm so proud of you, sweetie. You're doing what you need to do for yourself to make things better for the future. I wish I had done that a long time ago. I'll see you tomorrow." She hangs up, and I stare at the phone for a minute.

Soon, I would be back home with my husband and dog. But first, I had to warn Anne that trouble was coming to town in the form of Hurricane Laura.


	10. Sleep, sleep, beauty bright

**A/N - Hey, look, it didn't take me a year to update this time. This is the last chapter with an epilogue soon to follow. Thanks for reading, and thanks as always to GSFanatic. Happy birthday, my friend. I'd also like to add that I love feedback. Any feedback at all. Thank you.**

* * *

After returning to Tamara's with an apology and an explanation as to why I wasn't leaving quite yet (which we both couldn't help but laugh about), I call Gil and let him know what Hurricane Laura was bringing into town. But he didn't laugh. Not that I expected him to.

"Are you sure that's beneficial for any of you?" He asked, in his 'I'm concerned about Sara' voice. "I don't think Laura has the best intentions in mind here."

"I'm sure she's been thinking about it for a long time," I say, feeling the need to defend my mother; a feeling I am not all that familiar with. "Just as I needed to come back here to face my past, she has to do the same thing. She hasn't had an opportunity to do that before."

"You Sidles sure are stubborn women, aren't you," he said, finally allowing a smile into his voice. "You are coming home after this confrontation, aren't you? Sara, I miss you. I want to wake up next to you again. I want us to take Hank on walks together again. You're missing so much around here, and I need you to come back to me."

From the way Avery talks sometimes, I happen to know that Gil has not always been the romantic type. At times, it was like pulling teeth for her to get him to hold her hand or give her a kiss in public. Well, my husband must have learned his lesson, because he certainly knows what to say to make a girl happy.

"Yes, babe, I plan on returning in a day or two. And I have an idea I want to discuss with you. It's something I've been thinking about a lot lately."

Grissom doesn't ask me what this idea is. He knows I'm not going to tell him. I have taught him well.

"I'm looking forward to it. Love you, honey. See you soon."

We hang up. Smith comes into my room and looks like he wants to stay. Tamara pokes her head in and says, "Is it okay if he sleeps with you again? He seems very determined."

"It's fine," I say. "We're in a serious relationship now."

She smiles, but something in her eyes says she hasn't had the best day.

"Do you want a cup of coffee?" I ask. Coffee is the last thing I want right now, but after staying with Tamara so long and getting to know her the way I have, I feel I owe her that much.

"Oh, no," she says. "You have a long day tomorrow, and I don't want to burden you with my stuff. It's nothing, really."

I pat the spot next to me on the bed and say, "Come here. Tell me what's on your mind."

Tamara obeys. She sniffs, looks down at the ladybug comforter, scratches Smith's ears. She is working up to something. I let her.

Finally, she says, "With you being here, and with all of our conversations, and with all of the nostalgia, I find myself missing everything about your brother. He was far from perfect and he had deadly habits that he wanted to pass on to me, but Nathan and I had fun together. We were in love, and it was that kind of young love that you only have once. I miss him."

I considered my thoughts on Nathan. I think about him every day, but I do not miss him; at least not in the way I've missed my father. The simple reason is because I know he is better off wherever he is now. Life had never been kind to him, and he struggled until the very end. I know death was his way of finding peace, in his own twisted way.

"Of course you miss him," I say. "And at least you found someone else who loves you as much as Nathan did, albeit in a completely different way."

"Oh, yes, Jordan's wonderful. But I miss being with someone who was always taking chances. Nathan was always looking for his next adventure. I miss that kind of life, Sara. I don't want to be so...safe all the time."

She sniffed and shook her head. I gave her a moment.

"Anyway, that's enough of that. I know you understand and I didn't mean to dump it on you."

"Anytime," I say. "You know I'm here for you anytime."

"I know. You are the only person I have left to talk to about Nathan. Thank you for listening."

I nod. We hug, and then it's time for sleep. Smith stays on the floor this time, too tired to crawl in the bed with me. As I drift off to sleep, I ponder what Tamara just told me. It actually takes me one more step towards the clarity I am so desperately seeking. Her romanticizing Nathan in his death makes me realize that when our loved ones die, they take our memories with them. It doesn't matter what they were like in life; in death we make our own stories. I won't find what I'm looking for with my dad. Because he is gone, and so is my connection to him.

I wouldn't have been able to come to this conclusion a few months ago, a year ago, 10 years ago. Knowing this brings me to a peaceful, satisfied slumber.

* * *

When I wake up, I do not feel dread or impending doom. I know this day is going to be hard. My mother is not a subtle woman, and neither is Anne. Nor am I, for that matter. Put us all in a room together and who knows what kind of chaos might ensue. But I'm ready for this to happen. It's why I came back home, and why I left my husband and dog behind for so long. This is what my journey has come to, and I'm okay with that.

The day is overcast and chilly, but I welcome it. I've always been a fan of the more unusual weather, which is why Las Vegas is always somewhat disappointing to me, with its constant sun and rare thunderstorms.

My mother will be in Tomales Bay in an hour or two, so to clear my head, I take Smith for a long walk. I walk by many familiar places; places that no longer hold quite the sting they used to before I started my mission. My hometown no longer holds some kind of mysterious stigma. It's just the place where I grew up. It's the place with unhappy memories that have dulled with time. Of course I will always carry the image of my father, pale and bloody, lying on the floor of the kitchen while my brother, mom and I waited silently for the police to come, frozen in shock. But this town will no longer hold the keys to my past. Because now I hold my own keys.

* * *

However, several hours later, a shred of impatience and dread has settled in. I'm sure it's just temporary, but it is rather unsettling. I'm starting to imagine all kinds of terrible scenarios in my head when finally, there is a knock at Tamara's door. Tamara and Jordan have taken off for the day, determined to give me and my mother some space. I assured her this wasn't necessary, but she said it gave them an excuse to get out of the house for a while. Tamara is a good friend, and I hope we don't fall out of touch again.

It has been 25 years since my mother killed my father. It's been 20 years since I moved to Boston to get away from it all and start a new life at Harvard. It's been 17 years since I last saw my mother; it was my last attempt to connect with her when I was at school and it didn't go well. She was still in prison, still bitter, still angry, still wanted her life to be something it never could have been. And as I open the door to my past, I am overcome with emotion. The shred of anger that has been dormant in my heart for 17 years explodes once I see my mother's face. But the other part of me, the side of me that just wanted my mommy to tell me it was going to be okay, was overjoyed to finally see her again.

We don't speak, but we hug. It's a hug that has been in the making for a while, and I find great comfort in it. There's so much to say, and yet my mouth can't form any words. We take a long look at each other, and I can see her try to process what I look like now with how I looked when she last saw me. She also looks down at my wedding ring and smiles. I do, too. Ah, Grissom. I'll be home soon...I just have to get through this first.

"Hi, Mom," I finally say.

"Hi, honey. You look good. A little skinny, but good. I'll have to make you some of that roasted chicken you used to like so much. You know, with the mashed potatoes loaded with butter?"

I smile sadly. "Actually, I'm a vegetarian now."

She looked so disappointed, so I said, "But if you want, later you can make that peanut butter pie that I loved so much."

"Sounds good, dear. I will definitely have to do that."

We smile awkwardly. I don't want it to be awkward, but by the very virtue of us being in my hometown, about to undergo the task of the day, was enough to cause anyone awkwardness.

"Well, shall we go ahead and do this?" My mother said cheerfully. Of course, I didn't buy her cheer for one second. She has probably both been looking forward to and dreading this day for more than 25 years. I'm sure Laura Sidle had a lot to say to Anne Rose, and vice versa. I just never anticipated I'd be in the same room when it happened.

"Let's get it over with," I say. My mom chuckles. She points to her car and I shake my head and say, "Let's walk. It's not far." She nods, and I think to myself that I have no idea what's going through her mind right now. For a moment, I also think about asking Laura if she has any weapons on her, and if she does, to please leave them at home. But that would most certainly be in bad taste. I keep it to myself.

We walk slowly and make polite conversation about our lives. She tells me about teaching an art therapy class at a community college, and the bonds she's making with her students. I tell her about Grissom and our life together. We carefully avoid the subject of our destination, probably figuring that soon enough, in mere minutes, we'll be face to face with a painful, unforgiving past.

Soon, we are standing in front of the Wild Horse Inn. I am nervous and there's no hiding it. I know my mother can see this about me, but the frustrating thing is, I have no idea if she's nervous. So many years away from her has rendered my radar of her emotions useless. I don't know what to expect when Anne opens that door. In my heart, I know we're not going to have some kind of Jerry Springer, chair throwing, hair pulling situation. I know we'll all at least try to act civil. But what will that entail? I guess it's time to find out.

With reluctance in my heart, I knock on the door. Anne answers a moment later. She and Laura carefully regard each other, and the tension in the universe is out of control. Finally Anne turns to me and manages to say, "Hello, Sara. Why don't you and your mother come in?" I nod, and my mother and I step inside the inn that time forgot.

I watch my mother carefully as Anne escorts us to the living room. This is not easy for her, yet she shows no signs of distress. Nor does Anne. For a moment, I wonder if I slipped out the door, anyone would notice. But I have a feeling that both these women need me here, whether they know it or not. I have become the equalizer. It's not something I'm entirely comfortable with, but today it is my chosen role.

"Would you like some coffee or tea?" Anne asks. Laura shakes her head, so I do as well. No reason we need to extend the agony of this impending conversation.

"Well, let's chat then," Anne finally says. "What is it that's on your mind, Laura? I'm sure we have a lot to say, but I'm also sure we can agree that the past is the past and we're both stronger for it today. What else do we need to talk about, exactly?"

"We can certainly agree on that, yes," Laura said. "I did not intend to come here and make a mess out of your life. My daughter has come to you to study her father's past, and you let her do that. I appreciate that. We all have our demons and Sara is trying to let go of hers. I am trying to do the same. I needed to be here again. I needed...to come here and be in the atmosphere of where it all happened one last time. I'm sure you can understand that, Anne."

"I can, yes. I suppose living here where it all happened is the way I deal with my demons. Some might say that's unusual but I find it...comforting."

My mother nods in understanding, although I'm pretty sure she thinks Anne is batshit crazy for living in the house where the love of her life was murdered.

"I always liked this place," Laura said. "When Danny was in his better moods, we were actually pretty content; almost serene. So I know the sense of calm that it can bring, but I'm not sure I could live here with all the memories."

"Memories that you helped create," Anne was quick to say. "Sorry, Laura, but someone had to say it. I know Danny was rough to live with and he did unspeakable things to you and the kids, but there are other ways of handling it. What if he was still here? What if one of us managed to get through to him? Can you imagine how our lives would be different if he were still here?"

"Sure I can. I thought about it every day when I was in prison. But then I might be dead," Laura said, not even defensively, more matter-of-factly. "It was getting to the point where one or the other was going to happen. Our fights were legendary. He was getting increasingly more violent. You weren't there, Anne. You didn't have to make the decision that I made. I'm sorry I took him away from you, but he was hurting my babies. I couldn't handle it anymore."

In my whole life, I never thought a conversation like this could ever take place. I never thought my mother could be mature enough to talk to the woman who was the source of my father's misplaced anger. My mom was Danny's consolation prize, after all. Anne was the one he wanted to be with. Everyone in the room knows that. I can't help but feel proud of my mother at this moment.

"I'm sorry I took him away from you," Laura continued. "Both the times I took him away from you. If I had known how it was going to turn out, I would have taken Sara and Nathan and gone somewhere else far, far away. But you know just as well as I do that Danny had a good heart underneath all the bitterness. Sometimes he'd let me see it. That's what I lived for; the moments he'd let his guard down and let me see there was a real person inside of him. Sometimes he loved me the way I loved him. Looking back, that's not much to base a relationship on, is it? But it got me through the long days and nights. I was young, what can I say?"

Anne nods and bites her lip. Before any of us know it, she's crying. She's not sobbing or anything, but there are tears. My mom and I are frozen, not sure what to do next. Since I am the equalizer, I decide I should be the one to comfort her. So I get up from where I'm sitting next to Laura and place myself next to Anne. I slowly put my arm around her, not sure how she'll react. She leans into me and that's when the sobbing starts.

"Oh, dear," my mother says. "Where are the tissues, Anne?"

"In the kitchen," Anne manages to say. Laura looks at me and I shrug. I don't want to go anywhere near the kitchen. She doesn't either. But Anne's nose is not going to blow itself. Laura sighs, gathers herself, and goes into the kitchen for the tissues.

"I just loved him so much," Anne says. "I can't believe it had to end this way. I can't believe that he would be so abusive to your family. The man I loved would have never been like that...I still can't believe it."

Laura comes back with the tissues, looking like she may cry herself. In fact, she sits next to Anne and the two of them share a good, hard cry. I remove my arm from Anne's back and slowly retreat from the room. This is what they need. It is no longer what I need.

* * *

An hour later, my mom and I walk slowly back to Tamara's house, this time in silence. When we get inside, we sit down at the kitchen table, again in silence. After a few minutes, my mom starts laughing. A lot. Almost hysterically.

"Well, that happened," she says after she recovers. "I'm not sure I feel any better about my life now, but it did happen."

"I'm proud of you, Mom," I say, covering her hand with mine. "I'm sure that was hard for you to do. I've done a lot of hard things in my journey, too. It sucks, but it's worth it."

She nods, then blows her nose. "Well, I'm proud of you, too, honey. What are you going to do now?"

"Leave," I say. "As soon as possible. I have a husband I need to get back to, and a dog."

"Good for you. I have a flight back later tonight, as well. Can I take you to the airport?"

I think about this. I could call a cab and pay an exorbitant amount of money just so I can ride in silence. Or I can get over the awkwardness and let my mom take me to the airport.

"Yes, that will be fun," I say, almost meaning it.

All things considered, the ride to the airport is not awkward. We aren't quite on the normal mother-daughter terms yet, and we stick to safe topics that have nothing to do with the day we just had. Perhaps we can continue to talk in the future and someday I can confide in her; tell her about all the things that have happened over the years that she's missed. I would like that. But I'm not there just yet, and that's okay. I know now that I have been on a journey that likely won't ever end. Hopefully I will always learn new things about myself; I will keep growing, and I look forward to a future that makes that happen.

Laura drops me off at my gate at the airport. She hops out of the car and helps me with my luggage. Before I have a chance to escape, she pulls me in for a suffocating hug. "I love you, Sara. Don't forget about me. I'm your mother, and you can't escape that, even if you tried."

_And I have tried,_ I think to myself. "I won't, Mom. I'll call you when I get back to Vegas."

"Good." She ruffles my hair a bit, looks at me wistfully, and then gets back in the car and speeds away. I chuckle. That's my mom for you.

Soon, I am sitting on a plane waiting impatiently to get back to Gil Grissom. I have some things to tell him, and some things to ask him. The future is mine again, and I can't wait to share it with my husband.

* * *

_Cradle Song  
by William Blake_

Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,  
Dreaming in the joys of night;  
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep  
Little sorrows sit and weep.

Sweet babe, in thy face  
Soft desires I can trace,  
Secret joys and secret smiles,  
Little pretty infant wiles.

As thy softest limbs I feel  
Smiles as of the morning steal  
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast  
Where thy little heart doth rest.

O the cunning wiles that creep  
In thy little heart asleep!  
When thy little heart doth wake,  
Then the dreadful night shall break.


	11. Epilogue

**A/N - So this is the end. If you've been reading since the beginning and have stuck with it to the end, thank you so much. I apologize for taking so long to finish, but at least I did, right? I wanted Sara to have some hard times so she could come through it all a better, stronger person. I hope that comes through in this chapter. "The One That Got Away" is still my favorite fic that I've ever written, so it's a little sad that this chapter means the end for these two AU babies of mine. Thanks to GSFanatic for the beta and for never letting me give up on this story.**

Also, not to beg or anything, but I've noticed the last chapters of my fics don't get a lot of reviews, which is a bummer. If you're reading the epilogue and have enjoyed (or haven't enjoyed) the story, please leave me a note to let me know. Any feedback, good or bad, is always appreciated. Thank you for reading.

* * *

**Christmas Eve, 2009**

It is a beautiful winter evening. A bit chilly, somewhat overcast, the mountains a beacon in the background. I haven't missed this glitzy, glamorous town at all, but I have missed the people who inhabit it. That is why I'm sitting in my car in front of the Las Vegas Crime Lab. It looks so familiar to me, and yet completely foreign at the same time. I could turn around and wait for Gil at home-I still have my key. But he doesn't know I'm here yet, and I want to surprise him in his natural habitat.

I've burned my bridges in this town and I have no idea what the reception of my return will be. I take a few deep breaths, turn off the Clash CD I've been listening to in the car, and get ready to face the music.

The first person I see in the lab is, of course, Judy. Her face lights up, which makes me smile. "Hi, Sara! It's so good to see you!"

"Good to see you, too, Judy," I say. "How have you been?"

"Pretty good," she said. "I was dating this musician for a while, but he stole all the lamps in my house and I haven't heard from him since."

I laugh. Judy and I have gone to lunch a few times and talk always inevitably turns into the worthless men she dates. I enjoy hearing her stories, since I've never had much of a dating life. I'm more of a long-term relationship kind of a girl, as my track record indicates.

"Well, good luck with that," I say. "Is Grissom around?"

"He's in his office," she says. "Do you want me to let him know you're here?"

"No, thanks," I say. She nods and gives a conspiratorial wink.

As I walk through the halls that I know so well and have, up until now, taken for granted, I wonder what my future will bring. Will I be accepted back into the lab and into my old job, or does my abrupt departure last month assure that I will not be afforded that opportunity? Do I even want to go back to the lab? After how far I've come, do I really want to insert myself back into a life that is full of death? For once, I let my future hang in the balance. For once, I recognize the beauty in not knowing what will happen next.

One by one, I pass my former co-workers in the hall. They all give me huge smiles and hugs and want to know where I've been. Nick gives me a high-five. Greg gives me a borderline inappropriate kiss. Warrick hugs me, but has a barely-disguised look of worry. I know he's concerned for Catherine. I want to tell him that I'm okay now; that I'm not the same person who said those horrible things to his wife not even all that long ago. But I know words won't fix the past. Only actions can, and that comes with time. It is yet another lesson I've allowed myself to learn.

It seems like the person who's happiest to see me is Jim. Before I left, I had no idea of how close I'd grown to him, and when he hugs me and holds on for dear life, a rush of emotions run through me and I have to bite my lip to stop the tears from coming.

"It's so good to see you, Sidle," he says. "We've missed you around here. How are you feeling?"

I know I'm going to be getting that question a lot. I smile and say, "I'm good, Jim. I'm feeling good."

"Does he know you're here?"

"He knows I'll be here soon, but not exactly right now."

"Ah, the surprise attack. We all know Gil loves surprises, right?"

We share a chuckle. I'll have to work on that. I know I've thrown a number of surprises on my husband in the past couple of months. Not that I ever wanted our life together to become predictable, but I do want to make it more stable.

"Well, you look good, Sidle. I hope you're back for a long time."

I give him another hug before I continue my journey through the lab. Inevitably, it's not long until I run into Catherine. She doesn't look surprised. I'm sure Warrick has notified her of my presence. However, she only looks happy to see me. At least, she appears to be, anyway.

"Hi, Catherine," I say, trying to sound as good as I feel. "You look great. How's Sam?"

I thought I'd just put it out there right away, put the awkwardness into the air before it has time to fester.

She smiles warmly and takes my hand. "She's great, Sara. She cries all the time and she poops even more than she cries, but she's our little girl. You should come see her when you can."

"I want to," I say. "Maybe for New Year's, I'll come by and see her."

It is this moment that she takes to carefully, subtlety look me over like everyone else has. I know she's wondering how it took me less than 2 months to get myself together. How stable am I, really? Should everyone still walk on eggshells around me? This will probably last for a while; at least until I prove myself again. And I'm okay with that. I am, after all, the one who walked out on everything I knew with no explanation.

"I'm okay, Cath," I say quietly. "I know I have a lot to work on, and I'm getting there. I'm sorry about what I said to you. It's unforgiveable."

"You were grieving," she says. "I understand. I'm just glad you're back, and I hope you can find peace for yourself in Vegas. Because Grissom is a mess without you, and the lab is a mess without him."

We nod, and move on. She goes one way, I go another. Someday we will hug again. Someday we'll be back to that unspoken bond we had before I crossed the line. But for now, this is how it has to be.

Moments later, I'm finally outside Grissom's office. His door is closed, which is most unusual. He has always maintained an open door policy with his employees and contemporaries. While I'm contemplating this, Hodges walks by and senses my confusion.

"Hi, Sara, good to see you again," he says with a surprising genuineness.

"Good to see you, too, Dave," I say.

"I see you found the closed door. Ever since, well, you left the lab, he's been closing it often. Some people think he's crying in there. But if I know him, and I believe that I do, I think he just wants some quiet time to think. He's a lot like me in that respect."

I find it hard not to roll my eyes at this. Instead I say, "Well, thanks, Hodges. I'll see you later?"

"Oh, yeah, sure..." He says, clearly hurt that I didn't invite him in there with me. He walks away slowly, tail between his legs. I can't help but chuckle to myself.

After a few more seconds of gathering my thoughts, I knock on his door. His simple "Come in" already has me smiling as I walk through his door. I've missed his voice. I've missed his bewitching blue eyes. I've missed almost everything about my husband. I think I've even missed the bugs.

His broad smile that appears once he sees me is exactly what I always imagined coming home to. It's so genuine and loving, and most of all, so familiar.

"Hey, honey. I didn't expect to see you today. Come here and give me a kiss." He holds out his arms for me.

I smile and make my way over to behind the desk. He pulls me down and I sit on his lap for extra kissing fulfilment. It is good to be back.

The kiss is intense and we both find ourselves wanting more, but Grissom tries hard to remain professional at the office, and I know we will make things interesting later at home. After I compose myself and sit across from him, we make small talk about my trip back. Eventually, he asks, "Do you think you found what you were looking for in California?"

I think about it for a moment, even though I am already entirely sure of my answer.

"Yes, in that I learned that I will never find what I'm looking for, as far as my father goes. Because he's dead, and our relationship is, too. But I did find out some fascinating things about him. He was an artist. He was passionate about life and art and his future once upon a time. And at some point today, I think it was on the plane, I came to an important conclusion."

Gil looks at me patiently and waits for my conclusion. I love how genuinely interested he is in the progress I've made. He is the most patient man I've ever met.

"The most important lesson I could have learned from him is not to settle. He settled because he felt it was the right thing to do after getting my mother pregnant. He was never truly happy, and as a result of that, his life became a downward spiral. And it dawned on me that I've already learned about not settling. I could have made life with Robert work, but when the opportunity to overturn my life to be with you transpired, I took it. I've already learned from his mistakes, Gil. And that is what I find most satisfying about my journey."

He smiles widely and says he's happy for me, and that it looks like I've found peace. And then he looks thoughtful for a moment. It is my turn to wait for his conclusion.

"I'm glad you figured some things out for yourself, and I know there are more things to come. I know this journey will last a long time, right?"

I nod, grateful he understands.

"But I need you to promise me something before we leave this lab today. And I need you to know something, as well."

"Tell me," I say. "Anything."

"I want you to tell me if you're ever feeling overwhelmed again. I want you to let me help you. I need you to let me help you."

I sigh. "I want to, Gil, I really do. But I had to get out of here. I didn't want you to see me like that. After losing Danny, I...I wasn't myself. I want you to see me as strong and capable, not a falling apart mess."

He reaches out and I take his hand. It's so warm. I've missed this hand.

"But what you don't understand is that I love you for the woman you are, not the woman you can be. You are everything I need, and I will be there when you need me to be. We're in this together, you and me. Just keep that in mind."

"I will keep that in mind, and I promise I'll let you help me next time."

I am overcome with love for my amazingly considerate husband. I know both of us have our share of baggage, and in former lives, maybe we weren't so understanding for our respective partners. But now, together, we make our own destinies. We are truly soul mates.

"What do you say we go home and get Christmas started early?" He asks, winking at me salaciously. I laugh.

"I don't have any presents for you, I must admit," I say.

"That's okay. You've been busy," he says. For a moment I feel bad about not having anything to offer him as a present, but we're far beyond material gifts at this point, anyway. I can't help but think that being home, enjoying the company of the man who understands me better than anyone ever has, is the best Christmas present I could ever receive.

* * *

A few hours later at home, after I've had a joyous, slobbery reunion with Hank, and after I admired the Christmas tree Gil decided on a whim to put up in the living room, and after Gil shows me exactly how much he missed me in the bedroom, we're silent laying in the afterglow. I'm close to drifting off to a peaceful sleep when Gil says, "You said on the phone you wanted to talk to me about an idea you've had. Are you ready to talk about it?"

Am I ready to talk about it? Well, I guess as ready as I'll ever be.

"Oh...yeah. Well, I was thinking about my childhood, right? And I was thinking how those first years in the system were really traumatic and scary. I was so full of anger for my family, and yet I missed them all so much at the same time. And I was thinking about our future, and Danny, and how we should honour him and how we can move on from that..."

"You want to be a foster mom, don't you?" He says softly.

"How did you know?"

"I know your heart, Sara. I know you. I know what you want, and I know ultimately what you want is to give back to kids that are going through the same thing you went through. It's one of the many reasons why I love you."

He gave me a second to process this, and then continued. "While you were gone, I obtained an application for a family home license, which is apparently the first step. I haven't filled it out yet; I was waiting for you to come home so we can do it together. I just wanted you to know that I'm on board, and I think it's the right step for us to make."

I am so amazed by this that I am speechless. How did I ever manage to find a man who was this thoughtful, this capable, this inspiring? Instead of saying anything, I kiss him. A lot. And then before we know it, round two is happening because I am not sure how else to express how grateful I am by his willingness to show me the life I always thought about having.

Later, right before my eyes close, I think about the road ahead. I know there will be challenges and problems and disasters. I know my journey to California didn't solve all my issues. But I learned things about myself and about my dad that helped give me a kind of peace that I didn't even know was possible. Things will never be easy for me, but I have recently learned, with the help of friends and family, that I will never be alone. And learning that makes the journey worth everything.

* * *

_What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,  
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain  
Under my head till morning; but the rain  
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh  
Upon the glass and listen for reply,  
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain  
For unremembered lads that not again  
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.  
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,  
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,  
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:  
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,  
I only know that summer sang in me  
A little while, that in me sings no more._

- Edna St. Vincent Millay - 


End file.
